


2 Cups Feelings & a Dash of Common Sense

by angelsandbrowncoats



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad Matchmaking, Baker!Ed, F/F, F/M, First Dates, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Crack, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, In case that's an issue for anyone, Love Confessions, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Matchmaking, Mutual Pining, Weddings, a healthy dose of exposition scattered throughout, but he means well, but still a good sister, gay!ed & gay!kristen brotp for life, hopefully not too much though but idk, huge difference in chapter sizes, ivy is sick of his shit, lots of tropes, lowkey identity porn, minor to moderate depictions of violence, oswald being a touch too possessive at times, references and use of various substances thanks to ivy, sappy as all hell, sleep deprived & lovestruck os is definitely the pulling pigtails type, support local businesses, the occasional suggestive but in no way graphic scene, this wasn't supposed to have plot but it got one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2018-12-08 05:07:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 43,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11639535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelsandbrowncoats/pseuds/angelsandbrowncoats
Summary: Edward Nygma & Kristen Kringle run a bakery across the street from a nightclub. With the bakery's early hours and the club's late ones, they used to struggle with drunk clubbers wandering inside but never buying anything. Finally Ed has had enough and he confronts the nightclub owner about the issue, but instead of offering assistance, the man becomes a regular, buying a cherry turnover every day for breakfast. Ed finds himself torn between crushing on the man and hating his incessant teasing, while Kristen just wants to look out for her friend.





	1. The Baker (Ed)

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be short and sweet, but that didn't happen. I guess I'm getting better at writing long things? In any case, unlike some of my other WIPs-that-shall-not-be-named, I held off posting this until I was a good way through writing it, so you can enjoy regular updates. This is super fun to write & while it certainly got away from me, I like where the story is taking me. I hope you guys like it too!
> 
> (also, now I keep imagining Ed the Piemaker, but I have way too many WIPs to start a Pushing Daisies crossover, as much as I'd like to)
> 
> Oh, and be warned, the chapters _seriously_ vary in length. I originally intended this to be a oneshot but I decided the way I kept switching limted 3rd person POV might make for better chapters

"I should never have confronted him," Ed grumbled. Kristen patted his arm, "Hey, but it worked, didn't it? I haven't seen a drunk stumble in here at four in the morning since July."

Ed shrugged, "I guess. He laughed in my face when I asked him though. It's probably just a coincidence."

Kristen raised a perfectly trimmed eyebrow at him and turned away to check the spritz swirls, "Whatever floats your boat."

He huffed an irritated sigh at her, "I'm not lying!"

"I didn't say you were," she said, not looking back at him. He pouted, "It simply doesn't make sense. Why would he have laughed if he was going to do it?"

"...To mess with you?" Kristen replied, giving him her best 'duh' face. She never used to be so confident, not back when they'd first met. A slew of brutish 'lovers' and a 'traditional' family to thank for that. But after she'd agreed to date him, both had found something lacking in the relationship. It had taken them longer than it should have to sit down and talk it out, but when they finally did, what they realized shocked them both. Neither of them seemed to be straight. But neither of them had considered being gay before, either. They'd been close friends ever since, and once Kristen began dating people she _actually_ liked (and who didn't treat her like shit), she'd become much more assertive.

Ed scoffed, "But why? What's the point?"

"Hell if I know," Kristen shrugged, "Maybe he likes you."

"I - that's - don't be ridiculous," Ed leaned back, as if he could physically escape her suggestion.

"Hey, I'm just throwing it out there. It's a possibility. It's also a possibility that he's addicted to your cherry turnovers. He's ordered one every morning for going on five months now."

"Yeah, and always with something snarky to say," Ed stared at a scrape that had been on the tile floor for three years. He remembered the day he'd dragged the table across it.

"My god, you are desperate."

"What?!"

"I can see it in your face - and your posture, _god_ you used to look like this all the time around me - you want him to compliment you, don't you?"

"I - I don't - "

He was interrupted as the bell over the door rang and Kristen peered around him, smirking when she caught sight of the new customer, "Speak of the devil and the devil appears."

Ed spun around to see the nightclub owner lounging against the front counter like he owned the place, tapping a mindless rhythm on its surface as he waited, already sporting his usual predatory grin. Ed's hands started to shake, "Oh, why don't you go take his order. I - I have to - to frost the cakes."

"Oh no you don't. You need to face your fears," Kristen turned him towards the kitchen door and shoved him forward, "I've got the nicer handwriting anyway."

"Only on paper!" Ed protested, but she had already pressed a cherry turnover into his hand and pushed him out. The minute his foot was out of the door, Oswald Cobblepot's eyes were on him and it was too late. He swallowed down his nervousness and focused on not tripping on his way to the counter.

"Hello, welcome to Puzzles & Pastries, can I take your order, please?" he gave the greeting spiel, voice flat and tense, eyes on the cash register to avoid Cobblepot's stare.

"Good morning, Mr. Nygma. Pleasant day?"

Ed risked glancing up, caught off guard by Cobblepot's banter despite the fact that he did it every single day.

"Er, I suppose. Your order?"

Cobblepot's eyes flicked down to the turnover sitting on the plate still clutched in Ed's hands and then back up to meet Ed's eyes.

A faint smirk played on his lips and after a moment, he spoke, careful and deliberate, "I'll have an apple scone, please. And a medium Earl Grey."

Ed flushed, knowing that Cobblepot had done it on purpose, that he'd have ordered the same damn turnover if Ed hadn't been holding it, that he only did it to see Ed embarrassed, but he _couldn't help it_. Couldn't help playing straight into his hands. Why couldn't he be nice for once? Better yet, why couldn't Ed just _get over it_? Get over him. He could use some tea himself at this rate.

"I - I - I, of course, Mr. Cobblepot. Right away. I'll go get one," he mumbled, turning back to the kitchen, stumbling as his eyes unfocused.

"Oh, Mr. Nygma?"

"Yes?"

Cobblepot positively cackled as he responded, "Aren't they in the display counter?"

Ed really did trip that time, trying to turn back when he realized Cobblepot was right. Oh god, he looked like such a fool. He barely managed to keep the turnover on the plate that he was _still_ holding for some reason, and he ended up bashing his knee on the coffee counter.

"Ow!" he hissed, reaching the front counter again, "Yes, of course, yes, right here, sorry."

He continued rambling as he retrieved one of the scones and set it in the center of a clean plate, sliding it across the counter to Cobblepot before fetching his tea for him. The man almost looked concerned as he asked, "Are you alright?"

As if he cared. Ed simply laughed, low and self-deprecating, "Sure. Have a nice day, Mr. Cobblepot."

"You too, Mr. Nygma," Cobblepot's pronunciation was flawless as ever, but his voice lacked something of its usual assertiveness. Ed shrugged it off.

More as usual, Cobblepot took his breakfast over to his favorite seat, near the window but against a column, where he had the best view possible into the kitchen (whenever the door swung open, of course) to which Ed made his hasty retreat.

Kristen was scowling while she piped precise letters onto the cakes.

"I don't understand why you like him."

"I _don't_. Not really," Ed protested, "He's annoying. And needlessly cruel."

"And yet here you are, infatuated with him."

"I'm _not_!"

"Yes you are, Edward Nygma! Do you know how often you talk about him? And do you even _see_ yourself out there? He says six words to you and you're blushing like a schoolgirl. You _literally tripped_. On _nothing_ ," she sighed, setting the bag aside, "Look, I'm worried about you. I really did think I was in love with Tom, back in the day. I was head over heels for him, but in the end, he was an asshole. I just didn't let myself see it until I saw him kicking you in that parking lot. Maybe Cobblepot doesn't mean anything by it. Maybe he _does_ and he's a better guy than he looks. But then again, maybe not. I, I just want you to know, Ed - I'm here for you. And so is Lee, if you ever need someone to talk to. We'd love to have you over for dinner sometime, by the way."

"That sounds nice," Ed answered her sidetracked thought before bringing the conversation back, "But... _Fine_. Okay, so maybe I like him _a little_. He - He's confident and attractive, but there's no way he sees me as anything other than an easy target. Okay? So you don't have to worry."

Kristen gave him a small smile, "Like that'll stop me."

Ed smiled back, at times still shocked to have found a friend in the world.

"C'mon," she elbowed him, "It's time to do the twists, and you know I screw those up every time."

 


	2. The Club Owner (Oswald)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this one is kinda short since I wrote it when I thought the story was going to be a oneshot. I tried to add some extra fluff to fill it out a bit, but it's still under 1k so... 
> 
> Trust me when I say they get longer. My total word count at the end of chapter 12 was 26k+, and I don't think there's an even distribution
> 
> Mostly this part is to give everyone an idea of how _Oswald_ sees the situation

"IIIIIvy," Oswald moaned, collapsing back into his winged armchair. His ward/sister poked her head around the door frame, face dropping when she caught sight of him.

"Seriously, Ozzie? What was it this time?"

"Earl Grey," he groaned, flinging an arm across his eyes as his tired brain tried to fight with the chemicals flowing through it, keeping him awake.

"You _need_ to stop. You're supposed to be sleeping!"

"But I _can't_ , Ivy. I have to get a pastry if I want to see him and I can't have a pastry without a drink!"

"Then order something decaffeinated!" Ivy held out her hands, palm up, eyes wide, as if nothing could be more obvious. Didn't she realize decaf coffee tasted different? She probably didn't. She almost never drank coffee, not when tea was available. Then again, he'd had tea himself this morning. But decaffeinated tea usually meant _herbal_ tea, and he wasn't going to order that with his pastry, either!

Oswald stuck his tongue out at her, "No."

"Who exactly is the child here?"

"Whatever. But _Ivy_... He's so _pretty_. It's not fair."

He _was_. Ever since that day when Edward Nygma had burst through the doors of the Iceberg Lounge, demanding to talk to the 'man in charge' and looking so, _so_ adorably flustered, Oswald had found himself thinking about the baker at all hours of the day. Oswald could still see his pinched look as he faced down Gotham's greatest ex-crimelord (greatest because he was the only one still alive _and_ influential), so determined but obviously intimidated. At first Oswald thought he was some vengeful and unskilled family member of one of his old victims. And then he'd said what he truly came for and Oswald had doubled over laughing because _that's_ why he was there?

And then his face had gone red and he'd started stuttering as he _insisted_ that he be taken seriously and Oswald was mesmerized. For someone so meek to contain so much spirit - _and with such a beautiful face_ \- he couldn't help it. He was glad this man lived in modern times, for he was certain anyone that enchanting would have been accused of witchcraft...

So he _really_ couldn't help it when one morning as he was closing up the bar, he found his feet carrying him across the street to the bakery where he discovered the man to be possessed of a talent at least equal to his beauty. Definitely witchcraft. And like any good spell, his powers had consumed Oswald until he couldn't make it through a single day without fantasizing about the baker and his divine craft.

"Who allowed him to be that cute anyway?" he grumbled.

Ivy rolled her eyes at him, "Oh my god, Os, if I have to hear about his goddamned cheekbones one more time, I swear..!"

Edward had _such_ nice cheekbones, Oswald thought, smiling. And his hair was so fluffy. And his throat was so long, and _defined_. And his lips, Oswald could go on about _them_ for days. Even his eyebrows were cute.

And of course his _eyes_ that were just so warm and dark and endless that a person could get lost in them if they weren't being careful enough.

"What about his eyes? Can I talk about them?"

"Ugh, just ask him out already!" Ivy glared at the ceiling as if she had expected it to back her up.

"I can't do that!" He protested, mortified at the very idea. He reminded himself that she'd never met him, hadn't seen the way he always frowned when he saw Oswald, hadn't heard that horrible, empty laugh this morning.

"Why not?"

Oswald pouted, and if Ivy hadn't already known he was sleep deprived, that would have proven it. Oswald only acted this petulant when he was extremely tired.

"Because he _hates_ me."

Ivy sighed, well aware, thanks to Oswald's constant whining, of his behavior towards the mysterious man who worked across the street, "Have you ever considered that perhaps he only hates you because you're always teasing him? Maybe you should stop."

The corners of Oswald's lips tugged downwards, "But I don't! That much... Besides he looks even prettier when he blushes."

"For fuck's sake," Ivy buried her face in her hands.

"Language! Wait, how old are you?"

"Sixteen."

"Oh. Well, I guess that's old enough to swear."

"Glad I have your permission," she gave a cheeky grin, and if Oswald hadn't been so exhausted, he might have scolded her for it, "Anyway, you should think over what I said and also maybe _get some sleep_. I'm gonna go hang with the sensible members of this household."

Oswald blinked, trying to remember if anyone else lived with them.

"Who..?"

"My plants."

"Oh."

"Get some rest, Ozzie. You need it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oswald felt a little ooc, but my excuse is that he's sleep deprived and everyone acts different when they're tired, so...
> 
> Thanks again for all the comments on the first chapter, they always inspire me to write more/faster!


	3. The Customer (Ivy)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's another <1k chapter, but it actually sets up the first part of the plot, so there's that!

Ivy may have lied just a little. She did her daily check of all her plants, of course, but where she would have usually sat with them as she did her studying, today she snuck down from the quarters above the club and out across the street. She was going to have a look at this baker dude for herself.

A bell chimed over her head as she pushed the door open, nose immediately overwhelmed by a plethora of delicious scents, both sweet and savory. She thought she could detect chocolate, coffee, dill, bergamot, and cinnamon, among others. The strongest scent, of course, was that of freshly baked breads and cakes. She immediately decided that she liked the place.

At least Oswald wasn't wasting his mornings in some dump.

"Hello? May I help you?"

She glanced up to see a short woman with coppery hair approaching the register. So someone other than Oswald's man worked here.

"Hello, I've heard a lot about this place from a... friend," she responded, walking up to the counter and browsing the selection of pastries displayed beneath the glass, "I was wondering if I could get a slice of apple cake?"

"Of course," the woman smiled, "Would you like anything to drink with that?"

"Do you have any fruit drinks?" She asked, tilting her head to the side as she considered what she might like. Coffee was always too bitter, and she preferred making her own teas. The artificial nature of soda made it out of the question. Besides, she hated the stickiness.

"If you mean of the non-alcoholic variety, then yes. My business partner makes a killer mango smoothie," she suggested, "He's on break but we like to keep a couple extra around of anything that doesn't _have_ to be made on the spot."

Mango? Mangoes were good, _and_ something she hadn't had in awhile.

"That sounds delicious. I'll try one."

"Wonderful," Ms. Kringle, according to her name tag, said, "Will that be all?"

"Yep!" Ivy replied, then had a thought, "Actually, I was wondering, I could smell a couple of herb breads when I walked in. Do you ship in all your ingredients or are any grown locally?"

"I'm afraid we have to ship most of them in. We've been looking for a local supplier, but we haven't had much luck."

"Oh, well, in that case, perhaps we should get in contact some time. I may be an amateur, but my friend is rich and he bought me a state-of-the-art greenhouse. I've been thinking about selling some of my produce - I grow too much for just the two of us, you see."

Ms. Kringle smiled at that, "He sounds nice."

Ivy nodded, "Oh he is. Well, most of the time. At least, to his friends. He can be a bit snippy at times, and he's downright cold to strangers, but his heart's in the right place."

Oswald probably wouldn't appreciate being called nice, she supposed. He was too concerned with maintaining his image of powerful criminal turned dutiful citizen. But it _was_ the truth. Ivy wasn't sure where she'd be without Oswald, but, assuming she'd still be alive, she knew she would be in a much worse situation.

"Ah, of course. I understand," Ms. Kringle gave her another smile, "I must admit that I'm intrigued by your offer. If you leave a phone number or something, I can discuss it with my partner."

"Oh, yes," Ivy scribbled her cell phone number onto a piece of paper with the pen Ms. Kringle provided, "Thank you so much!"

"Thank _you_ ," she answered, "Your food will be right up."

Ivy stood off to the side, waiting, and it wasn't long before Ms. Kringle returned with a smoothie in one hand and a slice of cake in the other.

"Enjoy."

"Thank you!"

She chose a seat in the sun, digging in and smiling at the perfectly baked texture of the apples as her fork slid through one. Not too crunchy but not mushy either.

The first bite was heaven.

 _Ah_ , she thought, _this is why Ozzie fell in love, isn't it?_

Even though she'd failed in her objective to see the baker-man, she couldn't help but feel successful. She'd scored a divine slice of cake and she was well on her way to becoming a legitimate businesswoman. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys liked this little piece!  
> Kristen/Lee features in the next chapter (is there a ship name? I'm going with Kringlee, pronounced like crinkly but with a 'g')
> 
> Oh btw, I scattered a number of puns throughout this fic & there's one in this chapter. Did anybody catch it?


	4. The Best Friend (Kristen)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this one missed 1k by like... 4 words or something. The next chapter is 1.8k, I believe, so finally something substantial! I discovered, when writing this chapter, that I absolutely adore Kristen/Lee as a pairing & I hope to be writing more of it in the future.
> 
> Enjoy!

"He said he'd be here at about five," Kristen said by way of greeting, pecking Lee on the cheek as she took her coat, "How was your day?"

"Long," Lee sighed, waiting until Kristen turned back around from the coat hook to wrap her arms around her girlfriend of nearly two years, "I feel like I haven't seen you in a week."

"That's because it's almost true," Kristen replied, smiling as Lee leaned in to kiss her properly, "Between your shifts and my hours I don't think I've seen you since lunch on Tuesday."

"I guess I'm just going to have to make it up to you later," Lee laughed, "I'm off until Monday."

"Ooh, a three-day weekend. Fun."

"Maybe I'll have to support a local business for breakfast tomorrow morning. Rumor has it there's a cute baker on 9th who makes the _best_ muffins."

"Only on some days," Kristen gave her a dazzling grin at the praise, "We're too understaffed to stock _everything_ all the time."

"Hmm, what would I have to do to convince you to make tomorrow a muffin day?" Lee whispered into her neck, nuzzling her nose against the soft skin there. Kristen closed her eyes and tilted her head further back, "I don't know. I'm sure I'll think of something. But did you know you're not the only one who has heard the rumor about a cute baker on 9th?"

Lee gasped dramatically, "Are you telling me I have _competition_?" she winked, "Because with a face like yours I believe it."

Kristen blushed and shook her head, "'s not me."

" _Ed_?" Lee raised an eyebrow, "He's finally gotten himself an admirer? Good for him. He's a nice boy."

"He is," Kristen agreed, "But I'm a little concerned for him. This guy owns the club across from us. They met when Ed went to complain about how many drunk customers came to the bakery when he closed the bar, it being the only open place on the street. He's been coming in every day to see him and I'm _positive_ he likes him... and I _know_ Ed's head over heels... I'm just, concerned. I don't know much about him except that he enjoys messing with Ed. I wish I had some sort of way of knowing if he was a good guy or not... I don't want Ed to end up where I did."

Lee drew Kristen closer, pressing a chaste kiss to her hair. She hadn't been around in the Dougherty days, but she'd heard plenty.

"You didn't have anyone back then. Ed has us."

"I know. I even told him that. I just... "

"You don't want to see him hurt. I know. Hey," she pulled back to be able to meet Kristen's eyes, "I have an idea. You said he stops by _every_ day?"

"Without fail."

"What time?"

"Usually sometime between six and seven. Why?"

"I think I know what time I'm coming to see you tomorrow," Lee stole another kiss before stepping back to head towards the kitchen. Kristen followed, "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"C'mon, it'll be fun. What's the harm? I'll show up at around the same time, strike up a conversation... try and parse out what kind of a man he is."

"It's _your_ day off," Kristen shrugged, unwrapping the loaf of bread she'd taken home and slicing it, before turning to the vegetables on the counter, "Dinner's going to be informal, if you don't mind. Ed said he'd bring beef au jus for sandwiches."

"That's fine by me. I'm too tired for a big meal anyway."

A knock on the door interrupted them and Kristen turned. Lee held up a hand, "No, no. Let me. I'm not _that_ tired and you're busy."

"It's just a tomato - "

Her protest faded away since Lee was already opening the door.

"Ed! I haven't seen you in forever."

"That's technically impossible but the sentiment is accurate. It's nice to see you again, too, Lee."

"Come in, come in. I hear you're bringing the meat?"

Ed nodded, holding up a plastic container, "I need to heat it on the stove, though."

"Of course. You remember where everything is, right?"

"Yes."

"Good. Well I hope you two can stand to see a bit more of each other today, because I need to get changed into something more comfortable. I'll be back in a few," the last was more directed at Kristen, who smiled again.

Once Lee had disappeared into their bedroom, Kristen turned to Ed, "Hey, I actually do have something I need to talk to you about."

"Oh?" he raised his eyebrows and they tilted back, making him look like a confused puppy.

"A girl stopped in this afternoon while you were on your lunch break," she informed him, "Claims to be a local grower interested in selling us fresh plants. She left her number with me. I think we should check into it."

"Would she have enough to supply us?"

"Apparently she has a rich friend and a greenhouse."

"Oh."

"Exactly. But I figured it would be worth calling to set up a meeting, see these plants before we sign anything."

Ed nodded, "Sounds sensible. When were you thinking?"

"Well, the sooner the better. I was kind of hoping you could do it yourself, though. Maybe call her tomorrow and see? Lee's been planning on taking me to a lake house over the weekend ever since she learned she actually has time off. I trust your judgement but I could understand if you want to wait."

"No, no, it's no problem," he shook his head, "I can go alone. You're right. The sooner the better."

"Thanks," Kristen reached up to pat him on the shoulder, "You're the best, Ed."

"It's really no problem."

"Thanks anyway," she repeated, "Now let's see about getting you a pan... "

"It's almost like we're still on the clock," he sighed, smiling to make sure she knew he didn't mean it.

"But without any irritating club owners intruding?"

"..."


	5. The Girlfriend (Oswald)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was so much fun to write! I hope it's just as much fun to read :)
> 
> ~ Oh, and this is where the watermelon comes in, thanks to freckledandspectacled, whose watermelon discourse back at the beginning of July reminded me that Ed loves watermelon (so naturally I had to include that little fact)

"You better not get caffeine again! Tonight's a Friday and you know what that means!"

"Yes, yes, Ivy," he waved his hand, fixing his tie, "Busiest night of the week, I'm well aware."

"Which means you need your sleep."

"I know! I just want to see him first."

"You _always_ want to see him."

"Yes, well... "

"Whatever. I'm going to go study and _be the responsible one_. Have fun _not_ asking your crush out or whatever it is you do over there."

"Don't skimp on the literature!"

"Sorry, Ozzie, I can't hear you anymore, the heating just turned on!" she called back.

He rolled his eyes at himself in the mirror, "Bullshit."

He double checked his make-up to ensure it hadn't smudged since he'd applied it the night before. Satisfied with his appearance, he turned to leave his office, heading down into the bar area and out into the light of the barely-risen November sun. He could already smell the baking bread, even before he crossed the street.

His eyes wandered up to the now familiar plastic letters set over the door - the words 'Puzzles' and 'Pastries' in green with a purple '&' between them. He refused to admit it to Ed (or Ivy), but he took great pleasure in attempting to solve the 'daily riddle' written in chalk on the blackboard menu set up in front of the shop. It became significantly simpler when he realized they were often thematic. Halloween's riddle had involved the history of the jack o' lantern and two days after was one about souls. On the days that didn't have a theme of their own, the riddles were most often baking oriented. Today's was easy.

_"I can be dropped or rolled or cut. In some places I'm hard in others I'm soft. What am I?"_

Oswald smiled. He knew what he was buying today. Taking a step forward, he pushed on the glass door, paying no heed to the bell above his head as he strolled in, adopting his most confident stride.

He stopped short when he saw another customer on her way up to the counter. While people often came in during Oswald's 'breakfasts', he rarely saw anyone in _before_ him. He watched and listened as Ed emerged from the kitchen to greet her.

"Lee! What are you doing here?"

Oswald frowned at Ed's cheerful familiarity. How come he never got a welcome like that? Surely he'd been coming here long enough to be counted as a regular..?

"Didn't you hear? I have a three-day weekend. I thought I'd come spend a little time with my favorite bakers. And I seem to recall being promised a chocolate chip muffin sometime last night."

"Oh? Well I suppose _someone's_ going to have to deliver one to you. Would you care for a drink while you're waiting?"

"I live for your infamous mango smoothies, Ed, you know that."

"I don't understand why everyone likes the mango ones more," Ed shook his head fondly, "when you all know I put the most love into the watermelon ones."

"You honestly mean it, don't you?" She laughed and Ed gave her a small smile, eyes glimmering. Oswald felt like punching someone.

"Of course I mean it!" Ed huffed, but his smile never faltered as he handed her the bright gold beverage, "On the house, of course."

"Not at all!" Lee (apparently) handed him a ten, "I promised to support local business. Especially if said business brings me a treat with my muffin."

Ed laughed and it was the most beautiful sound Oswald had ever heard. His brain conjured the image of himself and Ed, curled up in front of a fire, next to a window on a rainy day. He shook his head quickly. Fantasies got one nowhere in life. Plans were the way to go.

And then his heart dropped like a man weighted down and tossed to the depths of the sea, because the woman was leaning forward and kissing Ed on the cheek and saying, "Make sure to add 'one cute baker' to my bill."

"Will do," Ed gave her another smile before turning back to the kitchen, presumably to fetch her order. Oswald glared at the clock on the wall above the counter, pretending he was mad at it for ticking so loudly.

"Oh, hey!"

He blinked turning to find the woman beside him, peering at him with wide, curious eyes. He scowled at her.

"Aren't you the guy who owns that fancy club across the street?"

He blinked again.

"Yes..?"

"It's just, my ex used to talk about that place. He said you did a good job with it."

Oswald felt himself puff up slightly with pride in spite of himself. He inclined his head, "He sounds like a sensible man."

_You should have stayed with him and kept away from mine._

"Mmm. He was. _Too_ sensible, for my tastes, anyway," she completely ignored his cold, disinterested tone and continued, "I always wondered what that would be like. What do you do as a club owner? A lot of paperwork? Networking?"

"Why? Are you looking into a career change or something?"

"Maybe," she shrugged, unconcerned, "I have horrible hours right now. How are your hours? Isn't your place open like... every night? Does that mean no time for family... friends... _relationships_?"

Oswald shrugged, "It's mostly just me and my sister. Sort of sister. Long story. But I see plenty of her as it is. She's supposed to be following a home school plan, but she only wants to do the math and science portions. Mostly biology. She's a brilliant girl, but she won't pass unless she can do _all_ the core subjects... Why am I telling you this? Oh, right, you asked about hours. Technically, if I wanted to expand my social circle, I could leave the club in the hands of my staff on the less busy nights. I'm there more out of boredom than necessity."

"Ah, I see. Maybe I _should_ think about giving it a try. More time to spend with my dearest - "

Oswald ground his teeth.

" - Kristen."

"'Morning, Lee," a voice Oswald had heard a number of times sounded from behind him. He turned to see a redheaded woman about his own height in a floury apron and a soft pink sweater approaching, red heels clicking on tile as she carried a plate with a muffin on it over to them. When she reached them, Oswald realized they were precisely the same height, and that if he didn't have heels hidden in his own boots she would have been towering over him at that moment. He scowled at the thought.

"Good morning, yourself, gorgeous," Lee replied, voice lower than he had yet heard it, "Mmm, one cute baker, just as ordered. The apron is a good look on you. Maybe you should try it at home sometime."

Kristen rolled her eyes, grinning from ear to ear as she allowed the other woman to pull her in for a kiss.

"Great, now I'm going to have to wash my hands."

Lee swiped a finger across the bridge of her nose, "You love it."

" _Hardly_ ," Kristen answered before darting forward to peck her lips again, "But I do love _you_. Now go eat your muffin before it gets cold and all my hard work goes to waste."

"We wouldn't want that, would we?"

"No, we would not. Go! I have hands to wash and a cake to return to."

"Yes dear."

"Don't 'yes dear' me."

"Yes dear," Lee's smile widened even further as she dodged the dish cloth Kristen tossed at her.

As the scene before him unfolded, Oswald felt his pulse return to normal.

_She's dating the other one._

_Oh._

Kristen, whom Oswald had previously known only as the 'other employee', turned to him suddenly.

"Oh! I'm sorry, have you been waiting?"

"Yes," he answered somewhat neutrally. He liked prompt service, but he was glad he hadn't been left with the assumption that Ed was dating this Lee person.

"Ed!" she called back into the kitchen, "Customer for you. I've gotta wash up."

"In a sec!"

Oswald hobbled over to the counter, cursing the leg that was reminding him of Ivy's words. _No caffeine._ It had been a long day and tonight was going to be a longer one. He needed rest.

He heard heavier, more solid footsteps on the tile and his eyes snapped up to meet Ed's brown ones. The man's smile melted almost instantly off his face.

Oswald's lips twitched down. Right. Just because he'd seen Ed interacting with someone he liked didn't mean Ed liked _him._

"Oh. It's you," he mumbled before getting flustered, "I - I mean - Hello, welcome to Puzzles & Pastries, may I - "

"Honestly, Mr. Nygma," he cut in, not wanting to hear another robotic rendition of the customary greeting, "I've been coming here long enough I think I know what the place is called."

"Oh, yes, right, of course."

It was like nothing helped. He scowled and the man shut down. He smiled and Ed smashed his knee. He offered concern and... he still wasn't sure what to make of Ed's reaction the previous day. Was he merely that determined to hate him? And why? All for a few drunks, even though Oswald had started closing the bar a whole hour earlier to stop them from bothering him?

Ed cleared his throat, "I do still need your order, though."

"Of course," he smiled anyway. Oswald Cobblepot was known for many things, but giving up easily was not one of them.

"I'll have a cherry turnover and... " his mind went to Ed's words from earlier. Clearly, the man hadn't known he was there, so it couldn't hurt to ask for, "a watermelon smoothie, please."

He heard a noise that sounded suspiciously like a woman choking on a muffin behind him.

"Oh, and can I get a dozen frosted sugar cookies to go, please?" he added, remembering the riddle on the blackboard.

"Of course," Ed nodded, actually looking pleased for once, "We have a sale on cookies today! Twenty-five percent off thirteen!"

"It must be my lucky day... "

Ed looked at him then and it almost seemed involuntary. Oswald said nothing, afraid to break the fragile connection of the moment. After a few seconds, Ed blinked and turned away, refusing to glance back as he said, "Your food will be out shortly."

Oswald stood to the side, unsure of what had happened as he watched Ed fetch a turnover and some fruit, pouring the latter into a blender to make a smoothie. He extracted the price on the register from his wallet, slipping an extra twenty into the tip jar when Ed's back was turned.

"Here you go," Ed handed over the plate and glass, "I'll bring the cookies out in a box for you."

"Thank you, Mr. Nygma. Have a nice day."

"I - er - you too."

Oswald gave him another smile, more nervous and genuine than his typical smirk, and retreated to his favorite spot.

That hadn't gone _too_ poorly.

Had it?


	6. The Schemer (Kristen)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's another short one today. Chapter 8 is where they _really_ start to pick up in length, so not long now! But today's and tomorrow's are setting things up for 8, which is when I get the Nygmobblepot ball rolling. In other words, Ed and Oswald are bad at talking and the women in their lives are starting to do something about it...

Someone walked into the kitchen as Kristen was rolling out balls of cookie dough.

"Ed? Could you check the hazelnut cake?"

"I could, but I'm not sure what to look for... " a voice that was very much not Ed's sounded from the doorway.

"Lee! What are you doing back here?" She glanced over her shoulder, setting the ball of dough on a greased tray, reaching to tear another chunk out of the bowl.

"Oh, am I not supposed to be?" she wiggled her eyebrows suggestively before laughing, "I told Ed I could wash my own dishes. Get a little extra quality time with my girlfriend."

"Aw, that's sweet. But seriously, check the hazelnut cake for me."

"What am I looking for?"

"It's sitting on the cooling rack over there," she nodded in the direction of the cooling treats, "The light brown one. I need you to gently touch the top - with clean hands! - and tell me what temperature it is. I need to get the ganache on top of it as soon as it's cool enough."

"It's pretty warm. Not burning, or anything, but definitely too warm."

"You've done ganaches before?"

"Just once. For Jim."

"Sometimes I think you cooked more for him than you do for me," she teased. Lee blew a kiss at her, "Only because I know Jim is a terrible cook. You, on the other hand, would be able to tell if I made a mistake."

"Lee, I don't care if you make mistakes."

"Alright, fine, I'll make you something while we're at the lake house."

"Ooh, I look forward to it."

"Just don't get your hopes up too high."

They lapsed into a comfortable silence as Lee moved to the sink and began scrubbing the ceramic plate of smeared melted chocolate and muffin crumbs.

"This was delicious by the way."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. The smoothie was, naturally, as good as ever."

"I'll make sure to pass the compliment on to Ed. Oh - did you do it?"

"Talk to that Cobblepot guy, you mean? Yep."

"And? The verdict?"

"Oh, he's _definitely_ into Ed."

"I already figured that out," Kristen rolled her eyes, "But is he a good guy or not? Should I be concerned?"

Lee shook her head, "He certainly has his quirks, and he's not exactly what I would call _social_ , but... I don't think he's a bad guy. He talked about his sister a bit. He seems to genuinely care for her. And," she glanced over her shoulder to ensure Ed was a suitable distance away from the kitchen before whispering, "He overheard Ed tell me that the watermelon smoothies are the ones he puts the most love into, and _guess what he ordered?_ "

Kristen bit her lip, grinning, "No!"

"He did! That man out there is not cruel and heartless. No, I think what we have on our hands are _two_ socially awkward, schoolyard-crushing middle aged men, one of whom likes to pretend he's not."

"Oh my..."

" _Exactly_."

They both shut up, trying their bests not to look guilty when Ed scurried into the kitchen.

"You're never going to believe this," he said in a hushed voice, completely ignoring their suspicious silence, "I think he solved my riddle! He never orders anything to go, but today I put a riddle about cookies out front, and he asked for cookies! What does this mean?"

"It means you should go bring the poor man some cookies," Kristen said, gesturing to the racks of finished ones even as she rolled out a new batch.

"Oh, right," he hurried to grab a box and begin filling it with the customary baker's dozen, selecting the thirteen best cookies from the entire array before leaving, nearly forgetting to take the box with him.

"What it _actually_ means," Kristen said in an undertone to Lee once he'd gone, "Is that I have a plan. It may make us a few hours late to the lake house, though."

"Oh? Well, go on. I'm all ears," Lee smiled conspiratorially back at her.  



	7. The Caller (Ivy)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last of the truly short chapters!
> 
> I know the update is a couple hours later than usual, but in my defense, I was _actually_ baking. If the bread comes out looking good, maybe I'll use it for a picture when I remember to post my updates on tumblr...

At the sound of the front door, Ivy hastily closed her plant book and opened a random classic. _The Scarlet Letter_. Huh. She caught sight of the word 'forest' on one page. Interesting, interesting.

She listened to the uneven footsteps as Oswald walked up the stairs and down the hall, stopping in front of her room.

"Do my eyes deceive me?"

"Hey, Ozzie," she tossed the book aside carelessly, ignoring the way his jaw twitched at the action, "Did you take my advice for once?"

"As a matter of fact, I did," he replied smoothly and she gasped, "Seriously?"

He cleared his throat, "I may or may not have overheard Ed say he made the watermelon smoothies with love, and, well... "

"Oooh, Ozzie, you've got it _bad_ , you've got it _so bad_ ," she teased, "But I suppose it's a good thing if it means you'll _actually sleep for once._ "

"Okay, okay," he held up his hands defensively, "I'm going to bed. I just wanted to tell you that there was a sale on cookies so if you want one you can go get one from the box on the table."

"Sweet!"

"Ha ha."

"Sleep well, Ozzie!" she called after him as he retreated from the room. As soon as she heard his door shut, she padded down to the tiny kitchen. Or rather, tiny compared to the rest of the massive penthouse. A pastel blue box tied up with a ribbon sat temptingly on the table and she carefully undid the bow, letting it fall to the sides as she lifted up the cardboard. Thirteen perfectly frosted sugar cookies sat staring up at her. She licked her lips and grabbed one of the green-frosted ones. Biting down, she stifled a moan. It was just as divine as the cake had been. Damn those bakers had skills.

A buzzing in her pocket made her jump and spill crumbs down the front of her shirt. Trying to brush them off and set down her cookie and pull out her phone at the same time was quite the feat, but somehow she managed.

"Hello, Ivy Pepper here."

"Hello, Miss Pepper," an unfamiliar masculine voice answered on the other end of the line, "My name is Edward Nygma. I work at the bakery, Puzzles & Pastries. You spoke with my associate yesterday about selling ingredients?"

"Oh!" she exclaimed leaping up before realizing she didn't really have anywhere to go and settling instead on one of the swiveling stools. She contained a squeal as she realized she was finally speaking with Oswald's crush.

"Yes, I recall. She said she needed to talk to you. Miss Kringle, right?"

"Indeed. We've discussed buying locally for quite some time now but without any luck, so your offer is tempting. Of course, there are a few details that need to be worked out first."

"Naturally, of course," she nodded before remembering that he couldn't see her.

"Costs, in particular, but we would also like the opportunity to see your plants before buying them, if it's not too much trouble to ask."

"Oh no, not at all! The greenhouse is at 3585 Marigold Street. I can meet you there sometime tomorrow, if you want?"

"Wonderful. My associate is away over the weekend, but we've agreed that only one of us needs to be there. I hope you don't mind?"

"Of course not! I hear I have you to thank for the smoothie I had yesterday."

"Oh, well," he stuttered and from what Oswald had told her about him, she supposed he was blushing, "Was it the watermelon? Those are my favorite."

"So I've heard," she couldn't help adding, "But no, it was the mango. Miss Kringle suggested it."

"Is _that_ why so many people ask for it?"

"Well, in her defense, it _was_ good. Like, really good."

"Thank you, I suppose. Is there a time that would work well for you?"

"Umm, well since I can't really drive yet, it has to be when I can get a ride. O - My friend usually drops me off around four, when he's getting ready for work, and then he picks me up on - on his break. Around seven. So, anytime from four to seven."

"Four would be preferable," Nygma informed her, "As a baker I tend to keep early hours."

"Ah, of course, I understand. Four it is. I'll try to get my friend to drop me off early so that you don't have to wait to be let in."

"That's not necessary, but thank you."

"No, thank _you_. I could use my own source of income. You've given me a great opportunity," she hoped she sounded mature.

"Well, so long as you deliver... "

"Don't worry. I will."

"Good. Have a nice day."

"Have a nice day, yourself," she managed to reply before he ended the call. What a polite guy. No wonder Ozzie was obsessed with him. He always did like his gentlemanly types. _And_ this one's baking was to die for.

And then she realized: Miss Kringle was away for the weekend. Nygma would be coming alone. And Os was going to drop her off...

A plan began to form in her mind and she gave a positively _evil_ smirk before sinking her teeth back into her delicious baked good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let the plotting commence!


	8. The Matchmaker (Ed)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised you long, and long you shall get. At least, long by my standards.  
> also titled: Ed & Oswald Can't Communicate, What Else is New?

Saturdays were short days at the bakeries. Sundays were off. But despite this, Ed's Saturday was much more hectic than usual. That was mostly on account of Kristen's being gone, enjoying a well deserved vacation with her longtime girlfriend.

Ed smiled when he thought about it. Lee had seemed very insistent to talk to him that morning, and at first he had been suspicious, although he wasn't sure of what.

The truth had been so much better, though.

_"I need to ask you a favor," she'd said, "Well, 'favor' might be the wrong word."_

_"Then what's the right word?" he'd asked. Words were important._

_"Blessing, I suppose," she'd said._

_He'd blinked, confused, "Blessing?"_

_She'd nodded, "I - I've been planning this trip for quite some time. Kristen thinks it's more spur-of-the-moment, that I discovered I had a long weekend when in reality... I asked for it off. This weekend marks our two-year anniversary, and, well... I'm planning on proposing."_

_"Proposing?" he'd gasped._

_"With your blessing, obviously. You knew her before. Back when, you know... If you think it would in any way upset her or be the wrong move, please tell me. I don't want to screw this up..."_

_Ed had nodded, "Of course. I - I think she'd love it. You don't need my blessing but you can have it."_

_"Oh good! I may or may not have already paid far too much on the perfect ring, but she deserves the best."_

_"Yes, she does," Ed had agreed with a meaningful look at Lee. Lee had only smiled back at him._

He was honestly so excited for his friends. It seemed like everything was going right in his life for once. Lee was proposing to Kristen, he had an appointment to get in touch with a local producer for ingredients, and even Oswald Cobblepot had seemed... _kind_ this morning, and the last. Ed couldn't stop the shy smile that tugged at his lips as he remembered Oswald's seeming to have solved his riddle, or the fact that he bought Ed's favorite drink, or the way he'd smiled back, like he meant it. And then this morning... If Ed hadn't been so far beneath Oswald's league, he might have mistaken the man's behavior as flirtatious. He'd even _laughed_.

_At a pun._

Ed felt fuzzy just from remembering. Oswald had such a _strong_ laugh. And -

Ed frowned at his reflection in the shiny bread tin as he realized he'd begun to call him Oswald. That was risky. What if he called him Oswald out loud? He didn't want to sound forward, it wasn't as if they were _close_.

He sighed and shook his head. It hardly mattered. He'd made so much of a fool of himself in front of Oswald these past few months, calling him by his first name on accident would hardly be the most embarrassing thing he's done. With a glance at his watch he realized it was time to get ready for the meeting with Miss Pepper. Cleanup had taken him the better part of the afternoon, it seemed.

Wiping his hands on a towel and throwing it into the bin for laundry, Ed made his way out of the kitchen, closing and locking first that door, then the register, then the front door. Finally he wiped down the board, not bothering to reread the snow riddle he'd written in honor of the weather forecast of 'first snow of the season' before heading to his car. Marigold Street wasn't far, but it was longer than he'd like to walk in the quickly cooling November air. Lee's family's lake house was further south and he hoped they were enjoying warmer weather. Not that Ed minded the cold. Cold days were perfect for a cup of tea and a good book. Sometimes he even considered getting a cat for comfort, but the risk of getting cat hair on his clothes and subsequently in the food was too high for him.

The drive only took him eight minutes and he noticed a black luxury car already parked in front of the greenhouse when he arrived. Kristen had mentioned that Miss Pepper's friend was rich.

He parked his car, shut it off, and got out. The greenhouse was in relatively good condition, considering this was an older part of town. Most of the buildings here had once been grand, long ago, but were now crumbling or giving in to creeping vines. Only a few, like the greenhouse, looked like they were regularly used. He walked up to the door and knocked twice.

A tall girl with long red hair and a bright smile opened the door. Her smile widened when she caught sight of him.

"Mr. Nygma?"

"That's me," he nodded, "And you must be Miss Pepper?"

"Please, call me Ivy," she replied, reaching out a hand for him to shake. He did so, adding, "Then I suppose you should call me Ed."

"Ed," she tried it out, then giggled, "Ed Nygma. Like 'enigma'. Neat!"

He felt a real grin stretching his face, replacing the business one he'd worn before, "Exactly! You'd be amazed how few people point that out."

" _Oh_. 'Puzzles  & Pastries'. I get it now."

"My partner and I enjoy wordplay. Mostly me, but sometimes her. Did you know she used to be embarrassed about her name? I always thought it was nice. Kristen Kringle. But ever since she met Lee, she's stopped letting little things bother her, and now we have a whole Christmas week based around it."

"Cool! I can't wait! You guys' food is _awesome_ ," she exclaimed, and he made a note that she was quite an excitable person.

"Alright, so as you can see," she gestured around the large, well-lit room, "I have a variety of plants. Most of them are in here, although there are other, smaller rooms for plants that require specific lighting, temperatures, or humidity. You'll probably be most interested in fruit, nuts, and herbs, since I don't really have the space for grasses, right?"

"I should think so," Ed nodded following her around the room as she pointed out various plants. They all seemed healthy - more than healthy, really. Each plant seemed vibrant and prosperous, each one a perfect specimen.

"You certainly know what you're doing," Ed granted, "Kristen almost made it sound like this was a hobby, not a career for you."

"Oh it is," Ivy assured him, "I'm only sixteen, so I'm still in school. Well, home-school. And my guardian, as you may have noticed on your way in, is beyond wealthy, so I don't exactly need a job. I just thought one might be nice, you know. And I absolutely adore plants. They're so much better than people... no offense."

"None taken," Ed chuckled, "I assure you I am not exactly what one would call a 'people person'. Well, I like people well enough, I'm just not particularly talented in the area of interacting with them."

Ivy nodded, "I understand. My guardian's a bit like that, too, although he won't admit to it quite so easily."

"Ah. So, I'm satisfied that your produce is of a fine quality. What sort of price are you looking for?"

"Well, I've helped my guardian with a few of the contracts for his business, so I thought I'd try my hand at drawing up one of my own. In essence it proposes that you can request specific plants, but that I have a four-week period in which to get them. Otherwise, I'll deliver whatever's growing seasonally, one assorted basket a week. In return, you'll pay ten dollars a basket with additional costs for additional requests, arranged at the time of the request and based upon the urgency and ease with which I acquire it. Is that satisfactory?"

He hid a smile at her obviously prepared speech and said, "Since you're sixteen, I'll modify something on your behalf. Make it twenty per basket. Ten is a bit cheap, assuming these are good sized baskets."

She pointed to a basket sitting in the corner, a sizeable picnic basket. He nodded, "Oh yeah, ten is definitely cheap."

"Okay, twenty then."

"You have the contract on you?"

Ivy nodded, grabbing the small stack of papers from between the sage and the oregano, where she'd left it. Shaking off a few pieces of dirt, she handed it over with a pen.

Ed scanned the paper, reading the text carefully. She may have been a teenager who didn't know the proper cost of ingredients, but that didn't mean she didn't know about loopholes and fineprint. Once he'd finished reading, satisfied that the contract was what she'd claimed, he added his narrow, looping signature at the bottom, alongside the date.

"Well, everything appears to be in order, I'll just need a copy of the signed contract."

She smiled, and he noticed it was an odd smile. Like she knew a secret.

"Of course, Ed, right this way," she gestured to the wooden stairs cutting through the middle of the room, "I modified some of the upstairs into an office. I've got a copier in there."

He marched up the stairs slowly, embarrassed by how little physical effort was needed to wind him and not wanting to accidentally end up wheezing in front of his new sixteen-year-old business partner. She followed close behind, still smiling that strange smile.

"Right through there," she pointed at the door straight ahead, and nodded for Ed to open it. The second he did, he felt her hand digging into his back, but before he could say anything she leaned forward and whispered, "I'm terribly sorry about this, but I've come to realize it's the only way. There really is a copier in there."

Without giving him a chance to reply, she shoved him forward and slammed the door behind him. He reached out blindly for the handle, shaking it to discover the door had been locked.

_What? Had he just been kidnapped by a sixteen year old girl? Why?_

"Ivy? Is that - Come back here and let me ou... "

Ed jumped at least five inches into the air.

_"Oswald?"_

He felt along the wall for a light switch and was rewarded, flipping it up to turn on a single naked bulb, flickering over a messy desk. His eyes were immediately drawn to the figure lying on a couch along the wall to his right.

Oswald Cobblepot.

"E - Mr. Nygma?" he struggled into a sitting position, eyes suspiciously dull.

"Mr. Cobblepot? What happened to you? To us? What's going on?"

The man let out a harsh sigh, dragging a hand down his face and cursing when he saw the black marks that appeared on it.

"Damn teenager," he muttered, "She - she told me she had this new tea she wanted me to try. Asked me to bring her in early. She fucking drugged me!"

"Are you okay?" Ed's brow creased. Oswald rolled his eyes, "I'm fine. Just drowsy. But I'm in no condition to drive back and she locked the damn door. I don't know _what_ she's... Oh. Oh no. Fuck this."

Ed jumped, unused to hearing Oswald swear.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

Oswald shook his head, "Ivy's a nice kid, I swear, but sometimes she gets these ideas. We're trapped, aren't we?"

Ed nodded, "Pretty much. Well, there's the window, but it's kinda small and there's a two-story drop - "

"Three," Oswald interrupted.

"What?"

"Three-story drop. The house is built into a hill. It's why I bought it for her. Basement's great for mushrooms."

"Huh," Ed walked over to the circular window to peer down and discovered that Oswald was telling the truth. It _was_ a three-story drop. Great.

"So how do we get out?" he asked, "What's the game?"

"It's not so much a game as, well, I imagine we're here until I give in and do what she wants me to do."

"And... what does she want you to do?"

Oswald didn't respond, staring at the wall behind Ed. He turned around to see if something was wrong with it but found nothing.

"Ed, I don't know if you know - I mean, it would make sense if you did, but maybe you don't - but... I solve your riddles."

Ed blinked. That was decidedly _not_ where he thought this was going.

"Umm... okay? I didn't know, well I suspected after you ordered cookies, but... why would Ivy lock us in a room over that?"

Oswald pulled himself to his feet, leaning heavily on the wall, "She didn't. But I wasn't sure how to... broach the subject."

"The subject?" Ed tilted his head, trying to understand what Oswald meant as the man slowly shuffled closer, his limp combining with his drowsiness to make his steps minuscule. He stopped less than a foot away from Ed.

"This subject," he said, and then Ed briefly stopped functioning because Oswald was leaning forward, pressing his lips against Ed's, hesitant and nervous and confident all at the same time and it was _perfect_ , well not really, but that's how Ed would come to remember it. He felt himself gasp ever so slightly into the kiss and Oswald's hand came up to hold his face, thumb on his cheekbone and fingers curling under his chin.

All too soon it was over, Oswald pulling back and stepping away.

Ed gaped at him, eyes wide and eyebrows drawn back in confusion, "What - I - you - what? What was that?"

"The answer to your riddle, of course."

"I'm sorry?"

Of all the responses to throw him for a loop...

"Your riddle? The one on the blackboard outside your shop this morning? The answer was 'a kiss'."

Ed shook his head, "I am quite cold to the touch, my structure sets me apart, I can be an obstacle, or a medium for art? How did you get kiss out of that?"

Now Oswald was frowning, "No, that's not what it said. It said, 'I am an 'x' that cannot be found, but... uh... but my location is based on intent. Remember when your heart starts to pound: I must be free if I'm honestly meant'."

"It really didn't."

"It really _did_."

"But that's not what I wrote! That's impos - _oh. She wouldn't_ ," Ed inhaled sharply through his mouth in betrayed shock, "Oh she'd better not have been lying... "

"What?"

He glanced back and Oswald and swallowed, "Er, never mind, I just - I think my co-worker may have changed the riddle to... to mess with me."

"Oh," Oswald's face drained of what little color it had and he retreated as fast as he could to the couch, sitting down forcefully and rubbing his already stained hand over his face again, "Oh. I - I am terribly sorry. Forgive me for being so... forward. My mind must be more muddled than I thought."

Ed opened and shut his mouth a few times before he settled on saying, "It - it's fine. I mean, um... "

He stood awkwardly by the desk, and his eyes fell on the copier. That was when the absurdity of their situation struck and he couldn't help but laugh. Oswald looked up, staring at him with concern.

"Is everything alright?"

"Oh yes, it's just... I came here to sign a contract and ended up getting locked in an office with... you."

"Yeah," Oswald responded, the word sounding oddly defeated. Ed frowned, not entirely sure why he was doing so. They watched each other in silence for a few minutes before Oswald miraculously found enough courage to ask, "Alright, at this point I'm just curious. What did I ever do to you? Why do you _despise_ me?"

Ed blinked, "I - what? I despise you?"

"Yes..? But why?"

"No I don't. What makes you think I do?"

"Well, you always look so disappointed when you see me, and you're always short with me, like you want me out of your sight as fast as possible. And I mean, nobody likes being trapped, but you're obviously annoyed that you're trapped _with me_. It all adds up to hate, but... This can't still be over the drunks, can it?"

"Os- er, Mr. Cobblepot, _I_ don't hate _you_. _You_ hate _me_. I'm short with you because you're always trying to humiliate me, and I've had more than enough humiliation in my life already. And I look disappointed because - well, it's not important. But it's not hatred."

Oswald was shaking his head, hand raised as if to deflect the accusation, "That - That's not - Humiliating you was never my intention. I - I seem to have given you the wrong impression. I apologize."

"Oh. Erm, I mean, I accept your apology?"

The air sat heavily between them, tangibly awkward.

"So, um, you never did say why Ivy trapped us in here..?" Ed tried, wanting to navigate into safer waters. He still felt unbalanced from the kiss, not to mention Kristen and Lee's deception, or the sudden knowledge that Oswald hadn't been mocking him on purpose. Everything was wrong, but not, and he couldn't sort out his thoughts.

"Oh," Oswald gave a weak smile, "I suppose I thought I was going to answer that after - but no matter. It's a funny story really, well, maybe, I hope you aren't offended or anything... She wants me to - to adm - to apologize," he finished far too quickly for his hesitant tone. Ed recognized this and frowned, unable to decipher the clue, knowing he was hindered by his lack of social knowledge. Oswald was avoiding _something_ , the real question was: what?

"Oh?"

"Yeah. And I am! I'm so sorry. She - I may have mentioned some of our interactions to her before and she told me that I had overstepped. I knew you weren't particularly pleased with me, but I didn't believe her that I'd gone too far. I - and you have no idea how rare it is for me to say this - was wrong. I'm sorry."

"Well, I've already told you that your apology is accepted, but it is."

"Should I stop going to your shop? You genuinely are a fabulous baker, but I think my behavior might qualify as stalking. I'll leave you alone."

Ed shook his head, "No, no, it's fine. I mean, you will stop, won't you? Embarrassing me, I mean. It's just, you're one of our best customers and the bakery barely gets by as it is..."

"Of course I'll stop," Oswald looked unfathomably pleased by Ed's refusal of his suggestion, "And as a peace offering, why don't I help you advertise? My club gets crowded on _weeknights_ and you more than deserve customers."

"No drunks," Ed shook his head again, more vehemently this time, "They never buy anything. Just make messes and disturb any customers we might have."

"Oh no, that's not at all what I meant," Oswald insisted, "I was thinking more along the lines of a deal. Adding some of your cheaper, more easily produced goods to the Lounge's menu, for example. With acknowledgements in large print, of course."

"Oh. I... I suppose that could work," Ed replied. He'd never really considered a deal like that. But the Iceberg Lounge was a notoriously popular, high-end club. Getting Gotham's wealthiest citizens interested in the bakery could be the push he needed. Having Kristen work for him and then later become his business partner had been the last time any true progress had occurred, sending the bakery from his own failing project to a barely-but-still-self-sufficient small business. He didn't like to think about that, though, because it gave too much credit to Dougherty. If not for him, Kristen would have never left her old job, but since the police refused to turn on one of their own, she'd had no choice. It was only by a matter of chance that she happened to be his neighbor, or else she may have ended up alone and unemployed and his bakery would have crashed into the ground. Or, perhaps, the latter would still have happened but she'd never have seen Dougherty beating him nearly to death in a parking lot and would have remained in his clutches. Even worse.

"Good, good," Oswald broke his train of thought and he tried to regain the thread of their conversation.

"Wait, so, if you apologized to me, and I accepted, does that mean we can leave now?"

"Oh, er, I don't know. I'll text her and ask," Oswald retrieved his phone, typing out a message. Ed watched him, unsure what else to do.

"That little - !"

"What?" he knit his brows, concerned at Oswald's tone.

"She called one of my employees to pick her up. She left us here!"

"What?" he said again, even more concerned.

"We're trapped here. She said she'll 'let us out' tomorrow. I cannot believe this! I am never buying that girl cookies again. Or drinking her tea, for that matter."

Ed had to smile at that. Now that he was on surprisingly good terms with the man, he didn't feel so guilty about his attraction. Oswald's confidence had been the initial factor, but Ed's heart was going to melt right out of his chest watching him in guardian/brother mode. He clearly had an easy and close relationship with Ivy, equal parts exasperated, fond, and concerned, and it was _every_ part the family connection he'd always dreamed of having.

"Well in that case, why don't I make the copy I came in here to make and see if I can do something about getting us out of here."

"How? We already covered that the window is out and the door's locked. You think there's a secret passage or something?"

He shrugged, "In an old house like this, it wouldn't be a surprise, and frankly I would _love_ to search for one, but actually I just meant picking the lock."

Oswald blinked, "Look, I know I have an infamous and shady past, but I am far too uncoordinated in this state to even _attempt_ \- "

"I meant me."

Oswald blinked again, "You can pick a lock?"

"Mhm," Ed nodded earnestly.

"Why?"

He bit his lip, not quite ready to tell Oswald the whole truth but being both unable and unwilling to lie, "I was a huge fan of Houdini growing up."

"Huh."

Ed didn't respond, waving the freshly copied version of the contract to dry the ink and then leaving it on the desk, rolling up the original and storing it in his jacket. When he took his hand from the pocket, there was a set of lock picks clutched in his fingers. He crossed to the door and knelt down, selecting an appropriately sized tension wrench and pick, applying a slight torque as he began searching for the first pin. He stayed silent, as did Oswald, both men wanting Ed to have his greatest amount of concentration possible. After a solid six minutes, the last pin was set and the doorknob fully turned, the door opening outward as Ed pushed.

"Ta da!" he said, momentarily forgetting that he was in the presence of someone Cool who probably never said inane things like, 'Ta da!', and immediately blushed. Great. Even when Oswald wasn't _trying_ Ed still found ways to be embarrassed around him.

"So what now?" Oswald asked. Ed paused, "We leave?"

"I already told you, I can't drive like this."

"I can drive you, I guess," Ed offered. Oswald glanced over at him, "You really would?"

"Of course, it's no trouble, that's _right_ on my way," he _did_ manage a lie that time: Ed lived nowhere near his bakery. He knew Oswald lived above the Lounge, so he hoped the man would assume Ed did the same with his business, conveniently forgetting, in his drowsy state, that the bakery was one level. Apartments were rare in that part of town and most of them were far too pricey. What with the last few years of development, his bakery - which had once been a decrepit, cheap, dump - would probably earn him a small fortune, if only he sold it.

"Well in that case, may I offer you a free drink as thanks?"

Ed held up a hand to politely decline, "As tempting as that may be, I shouldn't accept a drink if I'm going to be driving."

"But couldn't you just walk?"

 _Congratulations, Ed,_ he thought, _you lie for the first time in years and immediately trip yourself up. Nice going._

But at the same time, the offer truly was _tempting_. The Iceberg Lounge was considered exclusive, although after the drunk incident, Ed often scoffed at that. And it might mean getting to spend _that_ much more time in Oswald's company and he supposed it said something sad and pathetic about him that he was now thinking about sleeping on the floor of the bakery kitchen for that.

"Alright."

_Wow, Ed, wow. You'd walk off a cliff for this guy, wouldn't you?_

He stabbed a fingernail viciously into his arm, semi-efficiently silencing his self-criticism.

"Wonderful! You know, I think the effects are beginning to wear off, too. By the time we get there I may even be up for discussing that deal," Oswald clapped an arm around his shoulder, a move of camaraderie, but also a silent plea for support, his leg and the tea still impairing his ability to walk well. Ed instinctively wrapped an arm around his waist, moving it to his upper back when he realized what he was doing. If Oswald caught on, he didn't say anything.

The first thing Ed noticed when he stepped outside was the snow, delicate flakes drifting down, melting the second they touched the ground.

The first thing Oswald noticed when he stepped outside was that his car was still there and Ed wasn't going to leave his own.

When they reached the driveway, Oswald stopped Ed to make a call, asking one of his employees to pick up the luxury car and have it moved to a safer location. Ed couldn't blame his decision. He watched Oswald out of the corners of his eyes as the smaller man climbed into the passenger seat and scowled at the lack of comforts.

"I'm cold, how do you turn on your seats?"

Ed laughed involuntarily.

"What? I'm serious, it's November, it's snowing, and I'm freezing. How do I turn on my seat?"

Ed reached for the dial, turning it as far into the red zone as possible and cranking the other dial up to three. He kept his eyes on the road as he replied, "There. That's about as good as it gets in here. I mean, it goes up to five, but once you get above three it's very inefficient and it smells _awful_."

"You mean to say you don't have heated seats? Or temperature control?"

"I turned it on hot how much more control do you want?"

"I keep my car interior at a steady 72 degrees, I'll have you know."

"You've seriously never been in a cheap car before, have you?"

Oswald shrugged, "So what if I haven't?"

"I've never known anybody that's been rich their whole life," Ed answered, "What's it like?"

"Oh," Oswald shook his head, "I haven't. It's just... when I was a kid we didn't have a car at all. I never got one until I made my fortune. Buses and trains work perfectly well."

Ed glanced at him again, storing each piece of information Oswald deigned to share with him, ridiculously desperate to know him better. Public transportation. He never would have guessed. And it certainly did nothing to lower his opinion of Oswald.

Their banter drifted off as Oswald lowered the car's visor to peer into the mirror, using a tissue to wipe off the smudged make-up from when he'd rubbed at his eyes. That just made Ed glad he never went to that kind of trouble with his appearance.

They reached the club before long and Oswald directed him to the 'secret' VIP parking behind and beneath the club.

"You could be the richest person in Gotham - besides me, of course - but if I don't like you, you can't park here," he told Ed after he'd waved to the security guard disguised as a homeless man camping out in front of the hidden entrance. Ed noticed an odd sensation in his chest and he smiled. Oswald had (albeit indirectly) just admitted to _liking_ him. He never would have guessed that, either.

"Right this way," Oswald gestured as they left the car, leading Ed over to a gilded glass elevator, "Basements are often key-locked, so no one has ever gotten suspicious."

The elevator rose smoothly, passing a _different_ basement area before arriving at the front entrance of the club, the doors sliding open to allow them out. Oswald stepped through them, oozing so much confidence that Ed immediately imagined him as a king, strutting through the door his servants held open for him. He certainly _looked_ majestic.

Oswald led him over to the bar, slipping behind it himself and asking Ed for his order.

"Water," he answered instantly, cursing himself the moment the words escaped his lips. While wine was, essentially, the only alcoholic drink he felt comfortable with, he tended to avoid alcohol altogether. But accepting a free drink and then ordering water was about as conspicuous as one could be, and while it might mean he'd sleep in a real bed tonight, Oswald was sure to catch on...

"Here you go," Oswald handed over a perspiring glass, wiping his hands on a cloth, "But if you want something else, just ask. It's on the house."

Ed barely managed to mumble a confused, "Thank you," before Oswald was patting him on the shoulder and slipping away, saying, "Hold on, I'll be back as soon as I can. I need to check in with the manager."

He turned back to the counter, gulping down the ice cold water and trying not to think about the empty, lost feeling that settled in his stomach the moment Oswald was out of sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope my characterization managed to remain steady throughout this chapter. If not, I'm blaming it on the drugged tea :)


	9. The Defender (Oswald)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes Dougherty being an asshole & also probably too much exposition about Ed, Kristen, & Dougherty's past. Oh well. It also includes Oswald being a badass, so I hope you guys still find it fun on some levels!

He had been tempted to ask Ed about his choice of beverage, but the conversation risked steering them back into dangerous waters, sounding too interested, too stalkerish. Oswald felt fortunate that Ed didn't hate him, he wasn't about to push his luck. Especially not after kissing him without his consent. Maybe he could pass it off as the tea and settle for friendship...

It was that moment more than anything that had made realization smack him in the face. Taking a risk based on a riddle only to discover that riddle had been left, not by Ed, but by Ed's coworker was humiliating to the nth degree, and if he had been made to feel that way in his own club every night he would certainly have hated the person that caused it. Perhaps not enough to turn to the old ways, but then again, he was still on good terms with a friendly and inspired hitman, so...

He made his way to the back of the club, searching for his head manager. Bejeweled women in high heels and fishnet stockings were scattered throughout the club, pretending to be waitresses rather than security. Oswald had committed to running a (mostly) clean business, permanently bowing out of the gang wars after he'd clawed his way to wealth and infamy, but his past could come back to bite him any day and he would like nothing better than for it to stroll in confidently through his doors and exit alive... by a thread. Every employee had a secret second function, as a bodyguard or informant or lookout. For the same reason, he'd procured his deal with the cops, promising Jim Gordon that he'd throw in his towel (which he'd already planned, but he might as well profit from) and give all cops priority entrance with discounts in return for their protection, should the need arise. And their forgiving and forgetting all past crimes, of course.

"Mr. Cobblepot!"

Oh there he was. Oswald knew many of his other staff better than his managers, seeing as how he personally oversaw the club almost every night. He knew the man was qualified, but he couldn't for the life of him remember the poor chap's name.

"I wasn't aware you'd be returning; Miss Pepper said - "

"Do you have any younger siblings?"

"I - yes?"

"Then you'll understand why you should ignore anything Miss Pepper told you tonight."

"Um, of course, sir."

"Marvelous. Now, give me a report. How are things going? Have there been any issues?"

"No issues, sir. It's not the busiest Saturday we've ever had, but business is booming nonetheless."

"Good. What drink has been the most popular?"

"Hard cider has seen a particular spike in popularity tonight, sir. Likely due to the festive marketing."

"Oh?"

"Yes. We've been capitalizing on the romantic ideals of a first snow. Everyone wants to pretend it's Christmastime already, so the term 'cider' is catching their attention."

"Interesting. Who is the most influential guest of the night?"

"That would be the young lady over there, with the silver furs. She's the heiress of a massive fortune and everyone believes she's rather empty-headed, but she's far more cunning than they suspect. She's offered to marry whomever 'impresses her the most', leaving it completely open-ended. She's already acquired _two_ cars, _four_ expensive necklaces, and one two-week trip to Paris. And that's just tonight."

Oswald inclined his head and said, "Impressive," referring to both his manager's abilities and the woman's manipulation.

"And where _is_ Miss Pepper, dare I ask."

"Over there," he pointed to a semi-private booth tucked into the corner, lit only by a blue-and-purple glow. Ivy sat facing away from the door, chatting with two other girls, neither of whom looked wholly comfortable in the well-to-do atmosphere.

"Wonderful. You may continue. I don't especially feel like managing things tonight, and you're doing an acceptable job."

"Thank you, sir."

Oswald turned away, already missing Ed's face and, now that he was more familiar with it, his company. He adored Ed's shy manners and easily flustered nature, but the glimpses he'd gotten of a more comfortable and carefree Ed were tantalizing and he needed more.

He caught sight of the seat Ed had taken and frowned when he saw it was empty. His frown deepened, creasing his nose and brow, when he saw Ed's water glass, still mostly full, on the bar in front of the empty seat. Surely Ed knew not to leave an open drink..?

And then he heard the commotion.

It was more like a ripple, really. A wave. A sound from afar, drawing the attention of those nearest, which in turn alerted those moderately far, until finally arriving at the furthest. At Oswald.

He heard a raised voice, but couldn't make out the words through the excitement of the crowd.

He sprang into action, thoughts of Ed drifting to the back of his mind as he grabbed his cane and began to push forward through the crowd. If some _asshole_ thought he could get away with fighting in a classy establishment like the Iceberg Lounge, then he was _sorely_ mistaken.

As he approached, people in the crowd took notice and parted, until he could see the heart of the trouble.

And his own heart stopped, missing a beat, because that was _Ed_ being shoved against a pillar, two meaty fists clenched around his collar, dragging him up and slamming him backwards.

"WHERE. IS. _SHE?!_ "

Ed valiantly shook his head, a defiant look mixing with a sickly one as one of the fists detached from his shirt only to smash into the softer flesh of his stomach. Oswald knew from experience how painful a blow like that could be. He started forward, but not before the fight managed to escalate further.

"You have... no right... to know," Ed wheezed, glaring up at the man.

"C'mon, don't give me that," he laughed as he repeated his punch to Ed's stomach, watching Ed double over again, "I have every right. She's mine. Always will be. She knows that. I told her. She was never gonna be yours, kid. Don't know how you've kept her satisfied _this_ long; that cute little firecracker needs somebody who can keep her in check. You're just some candy-assed freak. A scrawny nerd who got me suspended. Kristen wants a _real_ man, who can take care of her _real_ good," his voice had lowered from his prior shouting down to a vulgar, mocking hiss.

Oswald was a step away from reaching the man when Ed did the last thing he expected.

Ed burst out laughing, one hand clutching his stomach at the pain, but never once faltering in his full-body cackle.

His assailant hesitated as well, obviously confused. But as stupid as Oswald was sure he was, the man was smart enough to know when he was being laughed _at_. He swept one leg into Ed's ankles, causing the baker to crash to the ground and began kicking his side. Ed's laughter underwent a transformation sequence in a matter of moments, turning first manic before becoming screams, then sobs, then whimpers which grew quieter and quieter until they stopped.

Oswald's brain kicked into gear again at the silence and he lunged forward, tearing the man, who was practically twice his size, away from Ed. He swung the solid chunk of metal on his cane to gather momentum before bashing it into the man's hip with a stomach-churning crack. The man turned around, one hand going to his injury, looking down at who his new attacker was and pulling up short when he recognized the club's owner.

" _What_ ," Oswald spat, voice decreased in volume but positively dripping with venom and cold rage, " _is the meaning of this?_ "

"Mr. Cobblepot," he said, sounding far too innocent in his surprise for Oswald's tastes, "My apologies for causing a disturbance. You run a fine establishment and I would _hate_ to cause a mess. I've just been working out some problems with an old friend of mine," he kicked Ed again, lightly, as if playful, "He was being _very_ uncooperative. You know how it is."

Oswald drew himself up to his full height (still a ways below the man), knuckles tight around the head of his cane, "This is a respectable club and I have worked hard to make it so. I do _not_ permit this sort of _brutish_ behavior on the premises! Now, you will leave," he unclasped one hand to point a finger at the door, "Or I will have you _forcibly escorted out_."

An annoyed crease appeared between the man's eyes and he argued, "I'm a cop! GCPD has special privileges here, in return for certain _favors_. You can't kick me out."

"I DON'T CARE!" Oswald wrapped his dominant hand around the platinum bird carving, ready to draw his knife at a second's notice.

The last of the man's facade dropped and he stepped closer, crowding into Oswald's personal space, smirking as he whispered, "What are you gonna do to me, _Penguin_? You can't run from your past, no matter how hard you try, so you're not gonna do a goddamned thing. In fact, you're gonna go fetch me drink. Something expensive. On the house. You were always good at fetching things back in the day, a little freak yourself, always bowing and scraping at anyone's feet. Oh yeah, I remember that."

Oswald snorted, smirking right back up at him, "You seem to have a good memory. And yet, you have forgotten something _vital_."

"Oh?" he scoffed, "And what's that?"

"Well, you said it yourself, really," Oswald answered conversationally as he unsheathed the first inch of his blade - letting the metal glint in the light - and raised his non-dominant hand, snapping. Six 'waitresses' appeared in formation around them.

"I was the _Penguin_. I single-handedly destroyed each and every major player in the gang wars, united the criminal underground under _me and me alone_ , and when I was done, I walked away without a scratch. Don't think for one minute that I've forgotten how to be that man again, if I ever wanted to."

The man glanced around, noticing the fact that he was surrounded, but not looking quite as scared of the women as he should. Well, Oswald knew one person he wouldn't underestimate. He glanced sideways and sure enough met the eyes of one of his only remaining friends from the Penguin days.

"I'll let _my_ old friend escort you out," he said lightly. The man glowered, opening his mouth to argue when he caught sight of the bald man who had stepped forward, weaving easily through both crowd and formation to give him a smile and a wave. The cop blanched.

"Oh, do you know each other?" Oswald inquired, using a _much_ higher quality 'false innocence' voice than the man had tried on him earlier.

The cop shrugged his shoulders forward in what Oswald supposed was an attempt to look tough before stepping back and turning away.

"Whatever."

"Oh, and - what's your name?"

"Officer Dougherty," he replied over his shoulder, stressing the word 'officer' as if it should scare him.

"Oh, and _Officer_ Dougherty: If I or any of my employees ever see you here again, I will more that happily provide you with a reminder of what exactly it means to be the Penguin. In fact, I'm quite tempted to extend that offer to the entire district. I may not get out much, but my good friend here would _love_ some extra work. Diamond District is still my territory, and you are decidedly _not_ welcome."

Dougherty gave a half-hearted snarl but he didn't turn back, only sending a nervous glance at Zsasz before fleeing out the door. Oswald scoffed, turning to the now-silent crowd that had gathered around him.

"I'm terribly sorry that your evenings have been disturbed. Violence is _not_ tolerated at the Iceberg Lounge. Drinks will be half-priced for the evening, and I hope you all enjoy the rest of your night."

That managed to disperse the crowd effectively, some losing interest but most heading to the bar to take advantage of his 'recompense'. As soon as they were gone, his full attention snapped to Ed, who was still lying on the ground, curled up defensively. Carefully lowering himself to his knees, he scanned his body for the damage. Blood was running out of his nose and there were bruises on his neck and arms (and, undoubtedly, his stomach and sides). While he _was_ conscious, his eyes were alarmingly vacant.

Oswald jumped at a touch to his arm and he turned to see Ivy, eyes wide, staring down at the scene.

"Ivy," he said, not quite sure what the rest of his sentence was going to be yet, "Help - help me take him up to my office."

Ivy nodded mutely, crouching down on Ed's other side. Oswald reached out hesitantly, cringing when Ed flinched away but not stopping. Even if Ed was uncomfortable, he couldn't leave him on the floor in the middle of the club.

"Ed, Ed, I don't know if you can hear me, but please listen. You're okay now. Can you sit up?" he pressed as lightly as humanly possible on Ed's upper back as he spoke, relieved when Ed responded to his verbal and physical request, sitting upright. His back was stiff and straight, while his movements were disjointed. He reminded Oswald of a marionette and that thought alone was bringing back a blood lust he hadn't felt in years. He wished Dougherty had stuck around a bit longer so he could have torn him apart, piece by minuscule piece.

"We're going to help you stand up, now, alright? We're going to take you up to my office. You can rest up there, okay?" he continued speaking, unsure if Ed could understand the words but hoping that at least his tone of voice might soothe the other man.

At his signal, Ivy lifted Ed's left side while Oswald did the same for his right, each taking an arm to steady him as he climbed to his feet. Oswald thought he saw a glimmer of recognition in his eyes, but they were still mostly flat.

After a few tries, they managed to get Ed to walk, supporting much of his bodyweight between them as they made their way over to the elevator and then, once on the third floor, to Oswald's sizeable office.

Depositing Ed on the couch in the office, Oswald handed him a tissue for the blood and turned to Ivy.

"Can you fetch some tea - normal tea, by the way, not drugged - and some blankets?"

She nodded, giving him a look that he suspected meant 'I'm sorry' and leaving.

Oswald glanced at the door, debating whether or not he should close it. On the one hand, it might give Ed the feeling of privacy, which could be a comfort to him. On the other hand, it might give him the feeling of being trapped, sending him further into his... whatever this was.

No, Oswald decided, better to leave it open. There weren't usually people up here anyway, so it should still feel relatively private. He paused again at the couch before shaking his head and pulling his chair over. When he'd designed it to look like a throne, he'd never intended to move it far. Now he was regretting that.

Once he managed to drag it to a spot across from the couch, he sat down and leaned his elbows on his knees.

"Ed? Can you hear me? Please say something," he tried, unsure what might garner a response. Ed's eyes shifted from staring vacantly at the wall to watching him cautiously, and Oswald felt slightly better at the idea that Ed at least knew he was there.

"I'm sorry, I don't know how to help you," he continued. Maybe it was a matter of waiting. Maybe there was some mysterious key word. He didn't know, so he just kept talking, "That man - Dougherty - he's gone. You're safe now. No one's going to hurt you here. I won't let them. I - I shouldn't have allowed you to suffer so much as it is. I'll be having words with the staff about their failure to stop him, but... It's my club and I invited you here and I should have been more careful. I'm sorry, Ed, I - "

"No."

The word was quiet, above a whisper, but not by much. Oswald heard it nonetheless.

"What?"

Ed shook his head, "Not your fault."

While talking was one step up from staring, this small and defeated voice with its broken sentences was was still deeply troubling.

"I beg to differ - "

"No, Oswald. I would say it was my fault. Except... Lee's been helping me with that. The self-blaming. She said if it isn't Kristen's fault when it happens to her, then it can't be mine when it happens to me. And it's obviously not Kristen's fault, so that means it _can't_ be my fault, I guess, and - "

Ed's gaze remained vacant as he reasoned things out, flat and unseeing in Oswald's direction. Oswald couldn't contain himself any longer.

"Of course it isn't your fault, Ed, it's mine."

"No, it's _his_. That's what Lee would say, and she's good at these things," Ed insisted, frustration and the need for conviction finally adding color to his tone. His eyes were growing steadily less dull, and Oswald wasn't sure if continuing to push the subject would be more harmful or more beneficial.

He was saved his decision by the return of Ivy, bearing a cup of tea and a green blanket that Oswald recognized as the one she usually kept folded at the foot of her bed. Selfishly he wished she'd brought one of his, but it was a foolish thought and he knew it. Expressly telling Ivy to do so would have been more than creepy, and it wasn't as if she made a habit of going into his room.

She set the blanket on the couch next to Ed and handed him the tea, patting his arm with an apologetic grin, "Sorry about earlier, really. You seem like a good guy."

Ed nodded once, raising the cup slightly before his eyes dropped to it, then to Ivy, then Oswald, then back to Ivy, and finally back to his tea.

"I told her not to put anything in it," Oswald answered the unspoken question, eyes on Ivy with his own.

"I didn't, I promise," she held up her hands, "It's not like, a regular thing, drugging tea. I just... Nevermind. It's Jasmine tea, with a little bit of honey, that's all. Mediterranean wildflower honey to be precise."

Ed nodded a second time, bringing the cup all the way to his lips and drinking the tiniest of sips. He paused, considering the flavor, and then took a significantly larger sip. Oswald watched with concern and Ivy stood to the side, wringing her hands nervously.

"Thank you," Ed said eventually, and he sounded more like himself, if somewhat subdued.

"You're welcome," she replied, "I - um - I should probably go. Cat and Bridgit aren't totally cool with this place, well Cat is a bit, but mostly cause she pickpockets, which you probably don't want either, and - "

"It's okay, Ivy, go back to your friends," Oswald assured her, before turning to Ed, "It is okay, right? I mean, if you'd rather she - "

"No, no," Ed shook his head, "It's fine, Oswald. I - I'm still confused, but I think I trust you."

"That's good," Oswald said, rather faintly. He wasn't sure why, but there was something about Ed's demeanor that told him gaining his trust was a major step. Oswald had only seen Ed comfortable and _trusting_ around two people, and he wondered if they might be the only two. Becoming a third felt... intimate.

"I should call someone to look at your injuries," he added after noticing the silence that had fallen, "Is there a hospital you prefer or anything?"

"Usually it's Lee who would help."

"Lee?"

"Yeah. She's a doctor, you know."

Oswald didn't, not really, but that wasn't the point.

"So do you want to call her? It's not _that_ late, I'm sure she's still awake..."

And it wasn't. Ed's meeting had been at four, after all, so it was just past seven now.

But Ed looked panicked at that, shaking his head vehemently, "No! Not tonight! I - I can't call her, can't interrupt... not tonight."

"Ed, I'm sure whatever she's doing, she'd come help you for this."

"Exactly. Which is why I can't call her. She's - well, it's not really my place to say."

Oh this was so helpful. Oswald restrained himself from rolling his eyes, "Okay, so you can't call Lee. The hospital, then?"

Ed shook his head again, "Really, I'm fine."

"You're not - "

"I've had worse," Ed shrugged, "I can handle this, easily."

_Worse? Exactly how dangerous is baking?_

"I would feel a lot better if there was something I could do for you," Oswald decided to use honesty. Only moments ago he'd reveled in the feeling of having Ed's trust. He should respect that by deserving it.

Ed set down the tea, electing to wrap the soft, green blanket around his shoulders, clasping it in front of him. He stared down at it and said, "This is a nice color."

Slightly derailed by the change in subject, Oswald almost reflexively answered, "Green is Ivy's favorite."

Ed's lips quirked into the smallest smile, "Mine too."

Oswald sat, quiet, unsure what to do or say. When Ed looked back up at him, there were tears in his eyes but they weren't falling.

"Oswald, I - I just want to feel comfortable right now. Hospitals are never comfortable, and I can deal with bruises. But I - I'd like to talk, if you don't mind? Lee said talking can be cathartic."

"Of course I don't mind," Oswald replied before he knew what he was saying, more than willing to fulfill such a simple request.

"I said I've had worse, and I have. So I can tell that I'm not in danger from this. But I didn't say that some of the worst injuries I've ever received were from the same person."

Oswald opened his mouth to interrupt, say _something_ , probably a curse on the man, but he stopped himself, letting Ed continue.

"It was ages ago. Three years. Well, three years since he did it, longer since it all started. You've met Kristen? She works with me?"

"More or less."

"We used to be neighbors. That's how we met. She was sweet and kind and I honestly didn't deserve it, not with the way I practically stalked her, but I was infatuated. But she wasn't interested and soon enough she started dating. The first boyfriend I met was awful, and even she knew it. He was a cop - they all were, since she worked for the police back then - and she left him after he got caught for corruption and drug dealing or something. I thought it was my chance at last, but then she brought home another man.

In the beginning she talked about him all the time and I listened because at least I was spending time with her, right? It was 'Tom this' and 'Tom that'. He was such a gentleman, always opening doors for her, punching some jerk that tried to feel her up, buying her jewelry. If I really had loved her, I should have been glad that she'd found someone better, someone who cared. The fact that she actually hadn't doesn't excuse the fact that I wasn't. I didn't want her to be happy, I wanted her to be mine. At least, I thought I did.

But one way or the other, I was horrified when I first noticed the bruises..." Ed trailed off, reaching down for another sip of tea, "I confronted her about them, and she tried to defend him. That's what really tipped me off. The excuses. I know excuses. And I knew the expression she had when I pointed them out. I wore it in school a lot. So I knew I had to do something. I suppose I also thought I'd become her hero, saving her the way I always used to dream someone would save me... But at the very least I can feel better knowing I was more motivated by how _wrong_ it was than by what I could gain. In any case, Tom Dougherty came around a lot. Sometimes just to pick her up, but I think he knew I liked her, and it amused him to watch my attempts at getting her attention. He acted friendly to me, all the time, but even I could tell it was fake."

Ed took another drink, "I waited for him in the guest parking lot one night. I knew he'd be there, because Kristen had told me about their date. Normally she'd get ready in her apartment, and he'd come up to get her, so I figured it would be okay. And on that front, I guess it was. She wasn't there, and he caught sight of me, so he came over. I don't know what he originally planned to do, because I interrupted him. I told him that what he was doing was wrong and that he had to stop or I would make him stop. He, naturally, laughed at me. I - I can't remember, exactly, how it happened, but... he started hitting me, like tonight, and I ended up face down in the parking lot. My glasses were broken and I was getting kicked in the side. I guess that's his thing..."

Oswald was leaning forward, hanging in horror on Ed's every word. When Ed didn't continue, he prompted, "What happened?"

"Kristen. She'd gotten worried when he hadn't shown up as planned. He was usually quite punctual. If - If she'd waited another five minutes to check, I probably wouldn't have made it. At least, that's what the doctors said when I regained consciousness. I don't really remember anything in the middle. I just remember her, screaming, and then I was in the hospital and Lee - well, she was Dr. Thompkins to me back then - standing over me with a clipboard. She told me she called the police on him, and he laughed because he was the police, but they showed up with an ambulance and he got suspended for half a year. But most of the cops had been friends with him, so they were awful to her, and she quit. I, of course, was only too happy to give her a job..."

Oswald blinked. This was quite the story, and if it hadn't been for the scene he'd witnessed moments ago, he might not have believed it. Ed had always been the cute baker across the street: nothing more, nothing less. For him to have a dark past of his own, albeit one in which he was much less of a bad guy, was unbelievable. The idea that Ed, of all people, had been caught up in some violent drama, not to mention the allusions to earlier horrors which Oswald knew he hadn't imagined, was nigh overwhelming.

"I don't tell people this story. Ever. Well, I don't have opportunity to, anyway. Both Lee and Kristen already know. They were a part of it. But you saved me and - and I thought you ought to know why. Why I needed saving in the first place. He wanted to know where Kristen was... "

"You were trying to protect your friend. That's very noble of you, Ed. And brave."

Ed shrugged, "What was I supposed to do? Let him start antagonizing her again?"

"No, but you could have lied - "

"I'm a terrible liar."

"Are you seriously arguing?"

"Yes."

"Fine, how about laughing in his face while he was kicking you? Are you going to tell me that didn't take guts?"

"Of course it took guts, how do you think laughing works?" Ed muttered, avoiding the question with science, like usual.

"Mhm," Oswald raised an eyebrow, not having it.

"Okay, fine, but it wasn't _really_ brave. It was funny! He said Kristen wanted a real man. I couldn't help laughing!"

Oswald recalled the scene he'd witnessed at the bakery and gave a small chuckle of his own, "I guess it is, at that."

They lapsed into a more companionable silence until Ed shivered - well, more like twitched.

"Are you sure you're alright? I can't get you anything? Ointment? A drink? That man's head on a stick?"

Ed gave a light snort, "Yeah, that'd be great. No, I think I just need some sleep."

"And a warm bath," Oswald added, before realizing that that might be a weird suggestion, "I mean, that's what my mother always told me when I got injured."

"Oh. Yeah, I suppose..." Ed trailed off, eyes locked on Oswald's, neither man speaking or making any move to change their position.

Finally Ed blinked, setting down the now empty tea cup and standing. He folded the blanket as well as he could and rested it on the arm of the couch.

"I really should go," he said, not leaving. Oswald nodded, getting up from his own chair, searching for something to say.

"I'm sorry this went so poorly. I hope you'll still consider my offer about the menus..?"

"Of course," Ed nodded, "Perhaps we could - could set up a time to discuss it?"

"Are you free tomorrow?" Oswald asked before he could stop himself.

"Yes! Er - yeah, um, the bakery is closed on Sundays," Ed's response decrescendoed and Oswald wondered if he was reading too far into it.

"A religious thing?" he questioned politely.

"No, just a rest thing. Sundays are a convenient day to be closed, although Kristen says we should try switching things up and steal all the customers from the places that are actually religious."

Oswald snorted, "She sounds like quite the businesswoman."

"She's really taken to it," Ed told him earnestly, "She can be very shrewd, especially now that she's found her self-confidence."

"Good for her. So, about tomorrow?"

"Oh, right, do you want to meet here, or..?"

"I was thinking we could go out somewhere? Say, a cafe? I believe Ivy's friends are staying over and I'd rather not have them interrupting. Trust me when I say that teenage girls are cumulative. If you think one is difficult, you've never seen them in _groups_. It's like they feed off each other's energy or something," and he wasn't lying, not at all, but he could at least admit to himself there were slightly more... _nefarious_ reasons. If wanting to pretend like it was a date counted as nefarious, which he thought it might.

"So like buffing?"

Oswald genuinely had no idea what that meant, so he simply asked, "What?"

"Sorry," Ed glanced down towards his shoes, "It's a video game thing."

"Huh."

"So you were saying a cafe?"

"Yes. Do you know Morning Life Coffee?"

"I've seen it," Ed replied, "On 6th?"

"Indeed. The owner, Mr. Barros, knows me. I was the one who paid for the cafe," Oswald smirked at the memory, "I almost killed him, you know, before I rose to power. I was hungry, he ran a food truck, and it was mere chance that someone with a wallet attacked me before I crossed the street. I thought it would be amusing, once I became infamous, to let him know how close he'd come to death. His food was even better than I'd remembered, so I set him up with a nice little business. Naturally, everything we order will be complimentary."

"Oh. That's... nice of you?"

Oswald laughed, "So what do you say? At three?"

"Afternoon?"

"Right."

"I can do that. Yes."

"Good," Oswald stuck out a hand from muscle memory.

Ed glanced at it and then shook it, "Thank you for everything, Oswald."

"It was no problem," Oswald insisted.

Ed nodded, turning around. He took one step towards the door, wobbled, and fell face first onto the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One day I'll write a story where Ed gets to be happy for the entire thing. One day.  
> But don't worry, this story isn't supposed to be dark or even really angsty. Ed isn't in any serious danger.  
> Tomorrow's chapter is about 2k, I think? It's the Kringlee weekend!


	10. The True Love (Kristen)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So as I said, this chapter is a bit shorter than the last two, but I felt it was the right length. Pretty much exclusively Kringlee fluff.

"D'you think it worked?" Kristen asked, voice light as she slipped her feet out of her sandals, tucking them to the left and allowing her to curl even closer into Lee. Lee brought an arm up around her shoulders and laughed, "I couldn't say. It was a brilliant plan, but then again, I _have_ met them, and it's difficult to imagine two more oblivious men."

"So true. Ed never suspected a thing. You never did tell me what you said to distract him," Kristen sighed, enjoying the feeling of Lee's thumb stroking across her knuckles.

"Oh, I merely asked him for some advice. You know how he loves to talk about facts, and the hospital has been trying to create a more effective flu shot," Technically, none of those statements were lies. The implication that they were connected, however...

"Of course. He's always been like that," Kristen giggled, "Did you know he uses fun facts to flirt? You'd never believe some of the ridiculous things I learned when he was dating me."

"I wonder if he's told any to a certain club owner," Lee grinned. Kristen shrugged, "Who knows? Probably, though."

Lee rested her head against Kristen's, pressing a light kiss into her hair, "So, how do you like it down here?"

"I love it, Lee," she said earnestly, "It's so warm and serene. I feel like we're the only two people in the world."

Her eyes drifted out across the lake, glimmering in the last light of the sunset. The lake house was gorgeous, easily three times the size of their apartment, and with a massive outdoors. Woods surrounded the property, blocking off any neighbors from view, and across the lake was a hillside where they'd picnicked for lunch. Now they were curled up on a wicker loveseat on the wide balconey, golden fairy lights overhead and a small, stone firepit before them. Between it and the seat sat a small coffee table which currently held two ceramic mugs, both filled with mulled (non-alcoholic) cider.

"I hope my dinner wasn't _too_ disappointing."

"It was perfect and you know it."

"Lies," Lee gasped, "I won't stand for this."

"What do you want me to do? Imitate some judgy chef on television? It tasted good, what more is there?"

Lee laughed again, and Kristen smiled. Precisely the effect she'd hoped for.

"Alright, alright, so I'm a better cook than I thought. Is that what you want to hear?"

"Mmm, yes. And perhaps a promise to cook more often. When you're home, that is."

"I suppose I can do that..."

Kristen nuzzled into Lee's neck, saying nothing, just enjoying the quiet evening alone with her favorite person in the world. She peered up at the stars, unable to see many through the balconey lights but too comfortable to get up and turn them off. The only constellation she could recognize was Orion, which she knew - thanks to Ed's constant ramblings - was a main feature in the winter sky.

Lee sighed into her hair, content.

"Do you ever think about the future?"

Kristen raised an eyebrow, even though she doubted Lee could see it, "You mean like spaceships? Or _my_ future?"

"Yours," Lee paused, "Ours. You know, it'll be two years since I asked you out tomorrow. A lot changed that first year, but not much since then, don't you think?"

"Do you want it to?" Kristen pulled back slightly to look up at her girlfriend. She could tell Lee was having a serious conversation, one she wasn't sure how Kristen would take, but she wasn't sure what the subject was yet. Did Lee want to move? Had she applied for a different job? Kristen was struck by the thought that perhaps Lee had taken her out here to show off the house. Perhaps she was thinking of buying it from her relative. It was the most beautiful area, but... it was almost two hours away from Gotham. And the bakery. Was she really okay with that?

Lee was looking into the fire as she answered, "I don't know. I definitely wish I saw more of you, but life is comfortable for us right now, for the most part. We have a nice apartment, good jobs, but I guess... " she trailed off, leaning forward slightly to break apart a charred log with the iron, "Is there anything you wish was different? Anything you planned as a kid that you never did?"

"I - I don't really know, either, I guess," Kristen replied. She'd spoken with Lee about her family a few times, but they weren't particularly important to her anymore. Moving to Gotham had been a huge step in cutting them out, and she'd finally reached the point where they were on Christmas-card terms, and she couldn't be happier. In fact, the last true contact she'd had was in May, when she'd answered a phone call from her mother. Everyone seemed happy and polite on both sides, but Kristen had avoided the truth every way she knew how and all parties involved were aware of the lie when she said she'd 'consider' visiting. She joined Lee in staring into the fire, "My parents raised me to be a housewife someday. No more, no less. I never really _had_ a dream."

"Never?" Lee sent her a questioning look before turning back.

"Well, I guess I thought about writing... And with the bakery, I've become more artistic. Maybe I'd like to make some illustrated short stories? I don't know. I like the bakery," she bit her lip, "I suppose I always expected to have kids some day, but I've never really thought about whether I _want_ to..."

"Don't worry, you have plenty of time to think about it and decide," Lee rubbed at her shoulder where her hand had been resting before.

"We," Kristen said before she had properly thought about it.

"We what?"

"We... have plenty of time to decide," She replied, teeth digging further into her lip as she felt a blush rising to her face. They'd been together for two years and she'd gotten to assuming Lee would always be there, but... what if that had been overstepping?

Her fears were mostly relieved when Lee smiled brilliantly at her, "So you're okay with a future that features me? Prominently?"

Kristen frowned as Lee extracted herself from the embrace and stood, crouching down by the fire to poke at it, back to her. She answered earnestly, "Of course I am Lee; I love you."

"Good," Lee said as she set aside the iron and straightened, turning around to face Kristen but not moving to sit back down.

"Lee?"

Lee took a deep breath, one hand in her pocket and then Kristen wasn't sure where her own breath was because Lee was kneeling down in front of her and _was that a ring box?_

"Kristen, my dearest, you have brought so much joy into my life and I hope I have been able to do the same for you. For all my love of romance, I've always been more science-minded, so as much as I think you deserve a romantic, poetic speech, I'll stick to the simple truth: I'd like nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with you. Would you be my wife?"

Kristen was absolutely certain she had never seen a more beautiful sight, not in her life nor in the greatest romantic paintings. Lee knelt before her, eyes shining with emotions: hope, vulnerability, but most of all, _love_. Her dark blue jacket was shimmering in the light of the fire behind her as the softer lights twinkled above, imitating the stars in the dark sky beyond that reflected off the surface of the lake. She barely even noticed the ring that Lee was holding out to her, focusing too much on the woman herself. Kristen knew it was a sight she'd never forget and she felt tears forming in her own eyes. She brought her left hand up to cover her mouth as her right one reached out for Lee, who took it.

She nodded, whispering a, "Yes," into her hand, as if she were afraid to speak too loudly. Lee's brilliant smile returned, stronger than ever, and she stood, pulling Kristen up with her and into a tight embrace.

"I love you," she whispered back, not knowing what to say but feeling the sentiment too strongly not to express it.

Kristen continued to nod against her, and finally she managed to say more clearly, "I love you, too, Lee. And I'm going to marry you!"

"You are," Lee pulled back so she could see her smile, equally excited at the prospect. Remembering the ring, she reached out for Kristen's hand and slipped it on the appropriate finger. Kristen glanced down at it and gasped, "Oh, Lee, it's _perfect_. But where did you find it?"

"I may have commissioned it..." Lee's lips compressed as she failed to hide her amusement, "Hey, I make more than enough money to spoil you."

"Lee..."

"I know, I know, but I knew you wouldn't want diamonds after having to sit through Ed's diamond facts, so I thought you might prefer this..."

"Oh I definitely do," Kristen admired it in the flickering firelight. The gold band braided for style, three stones set into the design at the top. The two smaller ones were tiger's eyes, relatively cheap as stones go and not the sort of thing one would find in an engagement ring. But in the center was something Kristen knew to be costly - a black fire opal.

"It's beautiful, Lee."

"I'd hoped you'd think so."

"But," Kristen turned to her, waiting for the tiny crease of worry to appear before she whispered, low and suggestive, "Not as beautiful as you."

Lee laughed, lovingly, and took Kristen by both hands, "Now _that's_ the most blatant flattery I've heard in years. Are you trying to get something from me?"

Kristen wrapped her arms around Lee's neck, pulling herself in for a kiss, "You bet I am."

Lee brought her own arms around Kristen's waist and smiled against her lips, "Well then I hope we can negotiate a deal, because there's something I'd like from you, too... "

"I'm sure we can reach an agreement," Kristen replied, melting into her arms and dragging them both back down onto the loveseat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow is going to be from Ivy's PoV and picks up almost precisely where yesterday's chapter left off.


	11. The Sister (Ivy)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oswald and Ivy are definitely good at balancing each other. Oswald needs help with his pining & Ivy needs to learn to stop spiking people's drinks. Also Bridgit & Selina make brief appearances here. I've never really written either before, so I hope that went well!

"Ivy!"

Ivy set her book aside, sticking a leaf in to mark her page, remembering to hide it before Oswald came in. He really ought to be more impressed with her reading a medieval-era text on medicinal uses for plants, but he'd probably get all whiny about how she needed to learn to appreciate Hemingway or something.

"Come in," she called back and the door instantly swung open.

"What?" she asked, taking in Oswald's flushed face and quick breaths.

"You said you didn't put anything in his tea!"

"I didn't!" she insisted. Geez you drug a guy _one time..._

"Then why did he just collapse?"

"He what?"

"He fainted! In my office! As he was leaving!"

Ivy unfolded her legs and stood, "Let me see."

"Since when are you a doctor?"

"I'm not, but I happen to know an awful lot of biology. It's _fascinating_."

She pushed past her guardian and strode out of the front door, into the hallway. Sliding down the stairs on the railing, she landed in front of Oswald's office.

"Ivy! Stop doing that!" he called from the top of the stairs, "You're going to hurt yourself."

"C'mon, Ozzie," she yelled back, "You only buy the best. It's a sturdy railing."

Without waiting to hear his response, she headed inside the office. Sure enough, baker-man was lying on the couch, her green blanket laid over him, moving ever so slightly as he breathed. She peered into the empty teacup on the table and then at Ed himself. His skin was a bit flushed as well, at least in the places where bruises weren't forming. He was breathing evenly.

Oswald appeared in the doorway.

"So? Why?"

"Shh, he's sleeping," she grabbed his arm and dragged him out of the office, closing the door.

"Wait, he shouldn't wake up trapped," Oswald interjected. Ivy nodded and left the door cracked open a couple of inches.

She pulled him back up into the 'apartment' upstairs, flinging herself down on a couch after getting a glass of apple juice.

"So? Explain."

"I think it's just stress," she spoke around a straw, "And for my part in that I really am sorry. But between everything that happened today, I think his brain just gave up and was like, 'we're going to sleep now. Make sure everything is normal when we wake up' or something. You know?"

"Hmm," Oswald frowned, "So we should just let him sleep?"

"Yeah. I mean he might be confused or disoriented when he wakes up, but it'll be fine."

"Okay," Oswald sat down in a chair across from her, "So are you going to explain what exactly happened this afternoon?"

Ivy gulped. She'd been hoping the unfortunate events of the night would have distracted Oswald from her own trick. A trick which she, admittedly, hadn't thought through properly. She'd been banking on Oswald's new boyfriend to distract him if everything had worked, but apparently everything _hadn't_ worked.

"This pining thing is really unhealthy," she began, trying to spin it in her favor, "I just wanted to help. I thought that maybe, if your barriers were down and you couldn't run away, you'd finally _tell him_."

"Did you consider that perhaps he would have been upset?" Oswald asked, sounding far too patient.

"...no."

"Hmm, and did you consider that your actions were violating our privacy, our autonomy, and our trust?"

"...no."

"I see - "

"I'm sorry! Okay? I'm sorry, I didn't think before I acted but I _did_ get the two of you on better terms, clearly. He came here with you, after all."

Oswald frowned, "That doesn't excuse - "

"I know it doesn't, and I swear I won't do it again."

"Hmm," he said again, "Well, I suppose there was no real harm done on your part. But my life is my life and I will thank you not to meddle in it again. And that goes _double_ for Edward's life."

"I promise," she nodded.

"Good."

After a moment, she smirked, "But what did happen in there, anyway?"

"None of your business."

Ivy rolled her eyes, "You're no fun, Ozzie. Okay, will you at least tell me where you guys stand now?"

"We're... working together. Maybe even friends, although I wouldn't want to assume."

"You are?" she leaned forward, "Working together on what?"

"I'm going to start serving some of his baked goods to help boost business for him."

"Aw, that's so sweet," she cooed, laughing at his glare.

"And we're meeting tomorrow for coffee to discuss it."

She gasped, "You're going on a date?"

"I didn't say that. I said we were meeting for coffee - "

"So a date," she nodded sagely.

"Do you or do you not go out for coffee with _your_ friends all the time?"

"Yeah, well, I don't have a glaring crush on any of them. It makes _all_ the difference."

"It's not a date if only one of us thinks it is," he reminded her. She shrugged, "And how do you know he doesn't?"

"Because. Now that's enough, Ivy. We should both get some sleep. Or rather you should be making sure those friends of yours aren't stealing anything and _then_ get all of you to sleep. I'm heading to bed now," he stood, rubbing his leg before moving towards his own room.

"Want to be up nice and early for your boyfriend?"

"Shut up," he called over his shoulder.

"I'm just saying," she grinned as innocently as possible, "You'd make a cute couple!"

Her only answer was the slamming of his bedroom door and she giggled. It was so nice to have a sibling to pick on. She wished she'd known him when she was younger, but then she remembered that he was significantly older and probably wouldn't have bothered to see more than an irritating child in her.

Stretching as she stood, she returned to her room, finding, as expected, Cat and Bridgit lounging on the bed.

"What was that about?" Cat asked, blunt as always.

"Remember how I said Ozzie fell for that baker across the street?"

"Yeah?"

"Well he fainted in Oswald's office tonight. He's asleep down there right now and Os is beside himself."

"Huh."

"Boys," Bridgit shook her head. Ivy grinned, "I know, right?"

"So is that what that fight was all about?"

"Yeah. Some dick was beating the shit out of the baker."

"Didn't realize baking was such a dangerous profession... "

"Me either."

"So," Ivy made room for herself on the bed, "What's it gonna be tonight? FMK or planning a government coup?"

"I vote coup," Bridgit raised a hand. Cat rolled her eyes, "You always vote coup. We don't have to plan society's downfall _every_ night."

"Marx would be ashamed of you."

"You've read Marx?" Ivy tilted her head to the side.

"Yeah, it was on your shelf. One of those books you never touch?"

"And you liked it?" she frowned, "I thought he was one of those boring middle-aged dudes who thinks they know more about being poor than people who have actually been poor."

"I mean he _was_ a middle-aged dude, but you should give it a shot. He's got... spirit."

"Cool. Maybe Oswald will stop getting on my case. He made me read Steinbeck once. It was awful."

"Yeah, that one I don't know."

"Lucky you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bridgit is highkey a Marx fan & nobody can convince me otherwise.  
> Also I feel like I should take a moment to state that I am actually a huge english lit nerd myself, but there I times when those books start feeling a little too pretentious, and I headcanon that because Ivy has had one of the roughest lives on the show (she wasn't a major character in the first couple seasons, but when she was there, holy crap were things going poorly for her) she'd really hate the pretentiousness. I mean is there anything more annoying than someone trying to explain your own life to you, especially if they haven't experienced it themselves & are just going off observations? Idk, I just can't see her appreciating that stuff.
> 
> Oh and in the beginning of this chapter she was reading Physica, by Hildegard von Bingen, who is one of the most badass nuns you'll ever read about. Seriously. Look her up. 
> 
> Tomorrow is a _massive_ chapter featuring, _finally_ , Nygmobblepot!


	12. The Crush (Ed)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so a lot of stuff goes down in this chapter, although a lot of it is focused on Nygmobblepot. Some points of interest: Oswald, as I cover in the next chapter, turned away from crime because his parents told him it was concerning them. As such, he has a tendency to doubt a lot of his actions & assume he has made the worst possible decisions at all times (if one thing can break his confidence, it's disappointing his mother), especially in light of his revelation regarding how Ed saw him. Readers should be wary of believing him, the same way they should be wary of objectively accepting the way Ed keeps describing Oswald as 'better than him'. Nothing in this fic is intended to be wholly objective, and pretty much every character has a worse view of themselves than is accurate. 
> 
> I also believe that Oswald & Ivy don't really do 'casual' with people. This shows through briefly in an early scene as Ivy treats Ed like she would any friend, and Ed is suitably confused, considering they don't know each other that well. But to Ivy & Oswald, the world is full of Strangers, Friends, and Enemies, without a whole lot of in-between. This makes them all around more open about themselves, but also runs the risk of them being quick to judge. My favorite heroes are uncompromising, but my favorite villains always have a give-and-take dynamic like that.
> 
> Anyway, enough rambling about the thoughts behind the story, let's get to the story itself:

The first thing Ed noticed when he opened his eyes was that his back hurt, but - as he immediately identified his bed as a couch - not as much as he would have expected.

Wait.

Why was he on a couch?

The events of the previous day came flooding in, playing out like a bad movie. He had been in Oswald's office, and then...

He blinked, instant panic setting in when he realized he didn't know where his glasses were. He could see, but not well enough to do much. The risks were too high with how blurry the world was.

Reaching out blindly, he tried to feel the arm of the couch, the floor, the table - ah yes, there they were. He hurried to shove them on his face, looking around to find...

Oh dear. He was still in Oswald's office. What did that mean? Had he passed out? What did Oswald think of him, now?

He sat up, barely noticing the blanket that slid off as he did so until he stepped in it. As he picked it up and folded it, he realized he wasn't wearing shoes. Whoever had put the blanket on him had either removed them as a courtesy or to save the couch from possible dirt. It was, he noted, an expensive couch.

Glancing around the office, trying not to overanalyze the decor for personality clues, he managed to locate the old brown pair that had served him well for years. Being a baker meant he wasn't often required to wear the more uncomfortable dress shoes favored by those in 'higher' positions.

He slipped them on, stopping to tie them properly so as not to ruin the backs of them. As he began looking around for information on what to do next, his eyes caught on a piece of paper resting near where his glasses had been, his own name scrawled on the outside.

Sitting on the edge of the couch, he opened it up to read:

_Good morning, Ed. You're probably wondering what's going on. You passed out in my office last night, probably due to stress. We figured you needed the sleep and didn't disturb you. Hopefully you are not too uncomfortable, from the couch or otherwise. If you take the elevator down to the lobby, you can ask the man at the door to take you down to your car. If you aren't anxious to leave, you're more than welcome to take the stairs up and join us for breakfast. Whichever you prefer._

_~Oswald C. Cobblepot ( & Ivy)_

_P.S. - There's a guest bathroom directly across the hall if you need one._

Ed smiled, feeling a bit bemused. Why would Oswald invite him in for breakfast? Weren't they going to be having coffee in a few hours anyway? Still, he wasn't going to pass up such a tempting offer. Rubbing the last of the sleep from his eyes, he approached the door, pushing it open to see a hallway. He vaguely remembered it from the night before and he was hit with a wave of embarrassment as he recalled the way he'd needed to be led away from the club. At least Oswald hadn't seemed upset. In fact, he had argued that Ed was _brave_. Ed felt just a little bit warmer at the though.

He crossed the hallway to the bathroom, feeling much better when he emerged, thankful to have been able to at least wash his face. He lamented his inability to brush his teeth, but something was better than nothing, after all. Feeling fully awake, he surveyed his surroundings.

A long hallway extended past the office, with a familiar elevator stationed at the end. Around the side of the office, tucked away to be hidden from the unobservant, was a stately staircase. Ed bit his lip, glancing at the elevator and then at the note before he placed one hand on the polished wood of the railing, pulling himself up as he climbed.

At the top of the stairs, he found a landing, well-decorated but also clever, forcing the visitor before the door so that no one could hide from the peephole. Oswald, he supposed, had plenty of reason to suspect hostile guests.

He raised one hand, knuckles rapping lightly, hesitantly, on the fireproof material.

He heard the sound of a chair scraping, followed by a soft thud, an 'ow', a giggle, and a voice that he knew was Oswald's saying, "Shut it!" before the door pulled inward.

"Ed?"

Oswald swung the door fully open, stepping back to allow him inside, "You're awake!"

"Yes," he nodded, trying to be as polite as possible, "Thank you for allowing me to sleep in your office. I don't think it would have been safe for me to drive home," he cringed when he remembered his lie about living above the bakery, and tried to change the subject, "And thank you for inviting me to breakfast."

"It was my pleasure," Oswald replied, and Ed noticed he looked different. Less put together than usual. He must not have gotten ready yet.

"Oh, um," Oswald interrupted his thoughts as they entered the parlor, "You've met Ivy? These are her friends, Bridgit and Selina."

"Cat," the latter corrected.

"Right, Cat."

"Hi," Ed grinned, nervous. He wasn't used to introductions; the only new people he tended to meet were customers. Still, he always tried his best to be friendly, no matter how many rejections he'd received in the past.

"Hey," she nodded at him, while the other one - Bridgit - gave a half wave. Ivy was much more cheerful with her, "Good morning!" as she held out a tray of muffins.

"They're probably not quite up to your standard," she said, "But they have some herbs from my garden, so if you're still considering that deal, you can try them for yourself."

"They're good," Bridgit assured her. Ivy nodded, "Yeah, but you haven't tried _his_ baking."

"It's really not that special," Ed ducked his head, selecting a muffin from the tin. No wrappers, he noticed. He bit into it and immediately identified a few amateur qualities, but he didn't need to lie when he told her, "This _is_ good. Give yourself more credit."

"Says the god of baking who just described his talents as 'not special'."

"I'm not - "

"Ivy, don't intimidate the poor man," Oswald cut in, "I'm sorry, Ed. You get used it."

"Oh," Ivy studied Ed who by this point was blushing up to the tips of his ears, "Sorry. But you _are_ really good."

"Thank you," he replied quietly, focusing on the food. The rest of them already had food piled high on their plates, so it was mostly a matter of passing it to him - sausages and quiche and toast with jellied berries, the ideal November spread.

He was glad for the presence of the three teenagers; they saved him from having to talk when he wasn't sure what he should be saying, constantly bickering or joking throughout the entire meal. He could spend his time eating and glancing at Oswald out of the corner of his eyes, hoping the other man wouldn't notice.

Oswald still carried himself with that easy confidence Ed envied, but here he was more laid back, wearing a robe over pajamas and slippers. His hair looked the same as always, but Ed was _positive_ he did something to it, because it just wasn't _natural_. Ed realized he hadn't quite known how much make-up Oswald usually wore, as he'd never seen him so pale or freckled before. The only thing he'd noticed previously was the eyeliner, which was also missing. While he lacked some of the _aura_ he typically possessed, he didn't look even an ounce less attractive this way.

And they were going out for _coffee_ that afternoon. Ed couldn't believe it.

_It's a business meeting, not a date._

But _still..._

He decided he'd give it his all anyways. He could make cupcakes...

"I suppose you'll be leaving, then?"

He looked up to find Oswald staring at him expectantly.

"Er, yes," He nodded. His plate now contained nothing but crumbs and if the clock on the mantel was to be believed, it was nearing 11:00. He wiped a napkin across his mouth before folding it in the center of his plate and replying, "I need to get back, get ready. Three o'clock, right?"

"Right," Oswald nodded, eyes not leaving him. Ed wondered if there was something on his face and reached up self-consciously to scratch his nose.

He stood, "Where would you like the plate?"

"Oh, leave it, it's fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I - er, why don't I accompany you down to the garage. So you don't get lost."

"Okay," he agreed readily, ignoring the tittering from the side, praying that the silent giggles were directed at some other subject than him.

Oswald stood as well, shedding the robe which he slung across the back of his chair and donning a long coat. Grabbing the cane that was leaning against the door frame, he gestured for Ed to join him.

"I hope you're feeling alright?" he asked once the door was closed. Ed nodded, mentally sifting through his injuries, "I mean I'm a bit sore from the fight, but it's fine."

"And you don't mind that we didn't wake you?"

"No," he shook his head, "I'm grateful, really. I obviously needed some sleep, and I'm not the best at falling back asleep once I've woken up."

"Oh, good," Oswald sounded relieved, "Yesterday just went so poorly, I was hoping you wouldn't be upset."

"Oh," Ed said. It was odd, he decided, having someone who wasn't Kristen or Lee acting concerned about him. But not a bad odd. An addicting one. He could listen to Oswald asking him if he was alright for days on end without getting tired of it, and if that wasn't a terrifying though, he didn't know what was.

They headed straight down to the garage, seeing as how Oswald had his own key for the level, and Ed didn't have to search for his car. Aside from Oswald's luxury one and a limo that he suspected also belonged to the ex-Penguin, it was the only one in the entire lot.

"So, I'll see you soon?"

Ed gave a grin that he hoped didn't look lovestruck and agreed, "Yeah."

"To discuss business?"

"Yeah."

"Good," Oswald nodded, almost to himself, "Good. Well, see you then, I guess?"

"See you," Ed replied, wishing he could be less awkward as he climbed into the car. He saw Oswald walk back to the elevator and stop, watching his car as he drove towards the exit. He kept one eye on him in the mirror until he couldn't see him anymore.

A guard at the exit raised an eyebrow at his worn vehicle but pressed a button on his panel, causing the 'warehouse' door to roll up, allowing him out. He recognized the decrepit back-alley Oswald had directed him into the night before and he followed it out onto 9th. He still had a fifteen-plus minute drive to his apartment, a shower to take (because as nice as Oswald's suggestion of a bath sounded, Ed's apartment didn't have one and though Lee and Kristen might not mind him using theirs while they were out, it would still have felt weird), cupcakes to bake, and another twenty minute drive to the cafe. He could do this.

Showering took slightly longer than anticipated, since he caught sight of himself in the mirror and froze. For all he'd brushed them off to Oswald, the bruises looked _awful_. And while he _had_ done it before, it had been years since he'd taken a beating like that. Perhaps when Lee got back, he'd ask her for a salve or something.

Once done, he found his best outfit - a leaf green button down and dark gray slacks, forgoing his shabby suit jacket altogether in favor of his nicer (if secondhand) trenchcoat. Naturally, he left this by the door as he covered the rest with an apron to avoid flour or stains.

Mixing a basic batch of cupcakes, he considered his flavor options. Vanilla was classic, but too plain. He wanted something with personality. Chocolate was usually great, unless the recipient turned out to be one of those rare-chocolate haters, and come to think of it, Oswald had never once ordered chocolate anything. There was always using Kool-aid powder...

Yes! Oswald had ordered a watermelon smoothie not two days ago, so he could be safe _and_ personal with watermelon cupcakes. And, he smiled to himself, that would make it _extra_ personal. After all, he loved watermelon, and he l - liked Oswald.

_Don't get ahead of yourself, Eddie. It's just a business meeting._

He shook his head to clear his mind and set about adding appropriate amounts of food coloring and flavored powder. Once he got them in the oven, he all but collapsed into his glider. The extra money had been worth it to avoid stationary seating, but in that moment he was too exhausted to move anyway. He was going to use all ten minutes of baking time to rest, wanting to be fully alert for the meeting.

_Shouldn't you tell Kristen?_

Ed shot upright in the chair. Crap. He'd been so caught up in pretending the meeting was a date, he'd forgotten the meeting was _actually business_ and as such, just as much Kristen's business as his own. Praying he wasn't interrupting anything, he retrieved his phone and sent a text.

[I'm so sorry to bother you on your weekend away, but I received an offer to supply the Iceberg Lounge with some basic baked goods for an advertising boost. I wanted to get your opinion before finalizing anything.]

He waited, trying to get the most out of his rest despite the rising panic.

{The Iceberg Lounge, eh? ;)}

{But what I said still stands. I trust you. If you're down with it, then go for it.}

{And I can't wait to get back. I have some GREAT news. Are you free for dinner?}

He grinned, having a strong suspicion as to what Kristen's news was and replied.

[Of course. I can't wait to hear it!]

{We'll be back around 5:30.}

[See you at 5:30, then. My place?]

{Sure thing. I'm going to enjoy the rest of my vacation now, though.}

{Enjoy your club owner.}

{**Enjoy your meeting with a club owner.}

{sorry}

{;)}

Ed rolled his eyes, setting his phone to the side just as the oven beeped. He got up, digging out a toothpick and some potholders, getting ready to check the cupcakes. The toothpick would be doubly necessary with the green dye.

Assured that the cupcakes were done, he turned the oven off and left them on the stove top to cool, getting a cooling rack ready and putting together the ingredients for the frosting. Soon enough the pink frosting was ready and he carefully extracted the cupcakes from the pan, setting them out to cool even more before risking the decoration.

Finally he determined them to be ready, filling a piping bag with the frosting and selecting a flower tip over the equally common star and circle ones. Oswald had, without fail, ordered sweet things from the bakery, so Ed decided the full cupcake look was acceptable. It was riskier with adults. Oft times they preferred a short layer of frosting, even if it detracted from the overall appearance.

Once the cupcakes had been fully frosted, Ed added chocolate sprinkles, reasoning that they weren't _really_ different from regular sprinkles, so if, on the off-chance that Oswald _didn't_ like chocolate -

Well, it didn't really matter now, he told himself. They are what they are and if worst comes to worst, Oswald can just pick them off.

_You do it with onions all the time._

And boy did Kristen make fun of him for it. Apparently onions were, "delicious," and, "made pretty much any meat dish better," or something. Lies. All lies.

Checking his watch, he took a deep breath. 2:11. He had some time. And the first thing to do was test his handiwork to ensure it would be of a high enough caliber for a man as discerning as Oswald Cobblepot.

Ed selected the sloppiest of the cupcakes and tentatively licked at the frosting. The butter flavor wasn't too strong. Good. That was often an issue with buttercream frostings. And the watermelon flavor was quite prevalent, which in _his_ mind was great. He just hoped Oswald felt the same. Sinking his teeth into it, he relished the combination of the frosting and cake, with that ever-so-slight crunch from the sprinkles. _Perfect_. Well, now he could feel confident that his gift was as good as he could make it. All that was left was to enjoy the rest of the cupcake in his hand.

And enjoy it he did, savoring every last bite and licking the last of the frosting from his fingertips.

He washed his hands and dug up a spare tray container, removed from the shop due to the smudged permanent marker across the top from when a customer had accidentally given him the wrong name before changing it halfway through. He'd kept it, figuring he could use it at a pot luck, forgetting that he never went to pot lucks because he only had two friends, one of whom was his sole co-worker.

This was as good a use as any for it.

He retrieved a green index card and wrote ' _Oswald_ ' across it, taping it over the ink stains and settling the eight best cupcakes inside.

Once they were in place, he wrapped a thin ribbon around it to ensure it stayed shut and hurried out, barely remembering to remove his apron and replace it with the trenchcoat hanging on the back of the door.

The drive didn't feel as long as he would have expected, whether because he was distracted or because Sunday traffic was always down, he didn't know. But soon enough he found himself pulling up into the tiny parking lot of Morning Life Coffee, clutching the box of cupcakes cautiously so as not to smear the frosting.

Was he even allowed to bring cupcakes into a cafe?

Probably not, but Oswald seemed to basically own the place, so it was unlikely he'd be kicked out for it. Still, he felt a strong urge to try and hide the desserts in his coat, at least until he got to a table.

But the moment he walked in the door, Oswald was at his side, somehow earlier, despite Ed's showing up at 2:47. How long had he been waiting there?

"Ed! You're here."

"It was the agreed upon place," he nodded, glancing down to see the cupcakes in his own hands, "Oh!" he held them out, "These are for you."

He almost said, "To thank you," but held his tongue at the last moment. They weren't, after all, a thank you, even though he hoped to pass them off that way if he had to. No, if these were anything, he supposed, they were a courting gift. He'd always impulsively given gifts to the people he liked. Kristen had gotten more than her share, some sweet, some less so, but Ed could only tell in hindsight which were which. He hoped he'd learned enough not to make the same mistakes with Oswald.

"Thank you," Oswald blinked, taking the box.

"They're watermelon," he said, as if that explained everything.

"Oh. I didn't realize one could make watermelon cupcakes."

"You can make watermelon anything if you just put your mind to it," Ed insisted. Oswald laughed, and Ed was glad to discover it wasn't the sharp, derisive bark he'd heard the first day he'd met the man. No, this sounded far more amused.

"I believe you," Oswald said, setting the cupcakes down on a table where Ed could see a cup of coffee already sitting, "Would you like anything?"

"Do you have ceylon tea?" He directed the question at the man behind the counter, who shook his head.

"What about English Breakfast?"

"No."

"Any kind of black tea?"

"Nah, we have iced green tea and we have hot tea."

Ed suppressed a sigh, "Hot tea, then."

He turned to Oswald, "Hot tea is usually English Breakfast, and it is almost _certainly_ black tea."

"Then what's Earl Grey?" Oswald asked. It was one of the few teas he was familiar with, although his own knowledge was rapidly expanding thanks to Ivy's constant experimentation.

"Basically English Breakfast, but with added bergamot."

"Huh. Weird."

"Yep. Did you know that bergamot is also known as beebalm?"

"I don't know what bergamot is, so no," Oswald smiled over the rim of his coffee at him, "Sit down. He'll bring the tea out to you when it's ready."

Ed slid into the booth across from Oswald, "There's also something called a bergamot orange, which is supposed to smell similar, but I've never seen one in real life, so I can't tell you. Did you know that, being native to America, bergamot was one of the most common substitutes for the teas lost in the Boston Tea Party? It's also supposed to be good for colds, coughs, and sore throats."

"Interesting," Oswald replied and Ed couldn't tell if he was merely being polite or not, "Speaking of sore, how are the bruises doing?"

"Not great," Ed answered honestly, "I'm going to ask Lee to take a look when she gets back this evening. She and Kristen are coming over for dinner."

Oswald gave a sort of awkward laugh, "Did you know, the first time I saw 'Lee', I thought she was dating you."

Ed laughed more solidly at that, "That's ridiculous. I haven't tried to be interested in a woman since Kristen pointed out that I _had_ to try," he cut himself off, unsure what Oswald would say if he continued. He had seen Kristen and Lee and he hadn't seemed offended by the idea of them, but...

"So you're not into women, either?"

Ed's brain took a moment to catch up with that statement.

Oh.

"No, not really," he bit his lip, "You?"

Oswald shrugged, "I've never been much into anyone, but the few times I have, it's always been men."

"I know the feeling."

The conversation trailed off as the barista appeared bearing a cup of tea.

"Thank you," Ed said, taking it and flicking the tip of his tongue against the surface of the liquid to test it's temperature. Still on the hot side.

Oswald cleared his throat and Ed's eyes snapped up to catch the club owner's flickering away from his mouth. Had he imagined that, or..?

"So, business," Oswald tried, voice a little hoarse and he coughed again.

"Right. So I was thinking maybe one savory item and one sweet? And obviously it would have to be something small and easy to make big batches. For the sweet, spritz cookies are perfect. They're small and quick and _very_ addicting. Biscotti is also an option, but significantly harder, pun intended. And for the savory I was thinking pretzels. Not the _easiest_ , but it's not particularly harder to make a dozen as opposed to a gross. Especially if I only have to make the dough and give the baking instructions to your kitchen. Baking them too far ahead of time would be a mistake."

"I'm going to pretend like I understood all of that and say, 'Sounds good,'" Oswald grinned, "I've never been one for baking, myself, so you're the expert. Now, since this is more an advertising ploy than a profiting one, the prices are going to be pretty cheap. Just enough to cover the production, all proceeds going to the bakery, of course. And we'll put the logo on the menus."

"Oh. Okay," Ed nodded, not totally confident in the world of business, "I've spoken with Kristen, by the way. She supports the idea, too."

"Oh, yes, good," Oswald agreed, "So is that everything? Do you want a contract?"

"I mean, after what happened last time I tried to sign a contract, I think I'd rather just trust you," Ed answered, trying not to think in too much detail about what exactly _had_ happened last time, in particular a certain kiss that he had never gotten the chance to properly analyze. The answer to his riddle, Oswald had said, but what did that mean? Surely he wouldn't have done it if he _wasn't_ interested? Or would he?

"Let's just shake on it, then," Oswald stuck out his hand and Ed took it, shaking it twice: an appropriate number. But neither party let go.

"Ed."

He raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Why did you bring me cupcakes?"

And between Oswald's earnest look and the thoughts running through his head, Ed really had no other choice but to blurt out, "Why did you kiss me?"

Oswald opened his mouth and then closed it again.

Finally he replied, "Is that just another question, or is it your answer?"

Ed thought he knew what Oswald meant and said, "That depends."

"On what?"

"On your answer."

Oswald nodded and Ed thought he could see him swallow before he asked, "Would you be mad if I said I did it because I wanted to?"

Ed blinked, "Why would I be mad?"

"Because that's weird? I practically stalk you for five months, my little sister locks us in a room together, and the first thing I do is kiss you without asking?"

He hadn't thought about it like that. Mostly because that's not how it had looked on his end. He had been a little too caught up in his own obsession to notice that the object of it might be obsessing back. Well, crush might be a better word. For both of them; there was one thing he had to object to.

"When you say stalking, have you done anything besides eat breakfast at my shop every day?"

"Well, no - "

"Then I'm not sure it qualifies as that. We have a number of regulars, you know, besides you. Perhaps slightly less regular, but still. You could just as easily have been there for the baked goods. If all you did was consistently visit me and buy my food, then I don't think it's that weird. I mean, if you had secretly recorded me or followed me home or something, that'd be different, but just visiting my bakery, as a customer no less, isn't really crossing the line. "

"Are you sure?" Oswald asked, "I was under the impression my behavior had made you uncomfortable, which I shall be forever sorry for. I would understand if that was something you couldn't forget, even if you could forgive it."

"I mean, sort of, but it was more that I thought you were laughing at me. It was mostly the intention that was uncomfortable, and I have since discovered that I was wrong about that intention, so I do forgive you. And it's not like I tried to clear things up between us either. I could have addressed it instead of just assuming," he admitted. With his new knowledge, Ed was beginning to suspect that the greatest transgression on both sides was miscommunication.

Well, no time like the present to fix that.

"Oswald, was this a date?"

Oswald blanched (if that were possible for someone so pale), glancing away as he fiddled with a napkin. Finally he looked back, a serious expression on his face.

"I - I don't think so," he responded, "I mean, we came here to discuss business, and we did."

"Did you want it to be?"

"I - "

Ed didn't let Oswald continue, speaking in a rush before he lost his nerve, "Because I did."

"You did?"

He nodded, biting his lower lip and keeping his gaze locked firmly on his tea.

"You're positive you want that? You're not saying that because you think I want to hear that, right? What you want is infinitely more important than what I - "

"Equally," Ed interjected, thinking about what Lee would say, "It's equally important. That's the point. And yes I am beyond positive that I wish this were a date. Please don't laugh."

He didn't.

In fact, Oswald didn't reply immediately at all and Ed felt his stomach clenching, made more painful by the bruising, as he waited on edge for a response.

"Would, would you like a real one?"

"What?" he looked up, but Oswald was in a similar pose to his own, peering intensely down at his coffee.

"Would you like to go on an actual date? With me?"

Ed couldn't quite believe it. Oswald Cobblepot, the smooth and confident and badass nightclub owner, one of Gotham's richest and most notorious men, was asking him - _Edward Nygma_ \- on a date.

"A lot. I mean, I'd like that a lot. Yes. Please?" Oh dear, he was rambling again, wasn't he?

"You mean it?" This was the most unsure Ed had ever seen him.

"Yes," he said more decisively, swallowing hard. Oswald's eyes followed the motion of his throat and then his aura of power and confidence returned and Ed was positive he'd never been more attracted to anyone in his life as Oswald ran a thumb across the back of Ed's hand (which was still clasped in his for some reason)

"Wonderful. Next Sunday, perhaps? Same time? I can take you anywhere you'd like," he paused, "Come to think of it, aside from being an excellent baker and a good person, I don't know much about you. What would your ideal first date be? If it's possible, I guarantee I can make it happen."

Ed brought his free hand up and pressed the second knuckle of his first finger against his lips in thought.

"I like a lot of things," he eventually responded, "But I'm not a big fan of crowds. And I prefer being able to learn things. Unless I've had a bad day, and then I just want escapism."

"What about a museum?"

Ed shook his head, "Not on a first date, no. That's a horrible idea. I tried that, once, and I forgot to stop talking about the information and she never really talked to me again. I love museums, but... I don't want to scare you off and they kind of make me _too_ excited."

Oswald smiled, "I don't think that would scare me off in the slightest, but museums can wait. If they make you excited, then perhaps the third date..?" he raised his eyebrows and Ed blushed, "I don't think that's quite what I meant."

"I know," Oswald assured him, "I was just joking. That's a silly rule, anyway. People are ready when they're ready, whether that's three days or three months or three years or never. What about a dinner theatre? I can get a nice, private booth where you won't feel so crowded, and the current show is a classic."

"Oh, which one?"

" _Fiddler on the Roof_ , I believe," Oswald told him after a sip of coffee, "I've only ever seen the movie, myself."

"Me too," Ed agreed, "I - that sounds nice. Can we do that?"

"Of course, although it won't be quite the same time, I don't think. It might run a little late for your hours, I'm afraid."

"It's okay," Ed replied, "I covered for Kristen on Saturday, I'm sure she can cover for me Monday morning, if need be."

_I hope._

"That's good. Shall I pick you up or do you want to meet there?"

"We may as well save a car," he said, inexplicably pleased with the idea of Oswald picking him up. He craved positive attention and somehow he felt this qualified.

"Then I guess you're going to have to give me your address because last night I thought you lived at the bakery but this morning I looked at it and that can't possibly be true. It's too small."

Ed nodded, "It is. I live at 805 Grundy. It's not the easiest place to find, though. Actually, if you have the time that is, I could just show you now? You could try a cupcake without having to break into your box quite yet. I have the extras at home."

"Of course," Oswald smiled, "Lead the way."

Leaving their mugs in the dish bin, the two men exited the cafe and got into their respective cars. Ed drove the mostly-familiar route back to his apartment, keeping an eye on the luxury car tailing him to ensure Oswald didn't get lost.

Finally he made it through the maze of side streets to the parking lot and pulled into an available spot with another next to it, waiting until Oswald had parked his own car to get out.

"You live here?" Oswald asked, "Is that even safe?"

"You're the ex-crimelord, you tell me," Ed shrugged, "It's not the parking lot I almost died in, though."

"Oh. Good."

"Yeah, Kristen and I moved out pretty quick after that. Neither of us wanted Dougherty to be able to find us. We both moved here, but once she and Lee got serious, well, Lee's a doctor, so... her place was _much_ nicer."

"Naturally," Oswald agreed, "This place reminds me of where I found Ivy."

"You found her?"

"Yeah. It's a long story."

"Oh," Ed looked away, not wanting to pry.

"I'll make sure to tell you someday."

He raised his head, eyebrows back, "You don't have to."

"It's no problem. I know for a fact Ivy doesn't mind and you've told me your fair share of secrets already."

"It's - "

"Ed, remind me to teach you to stop arguing all the time, too. I justify my actions with the end result, not words, so if you doubt my intention or my sincerity, _please just wait_."

Ed bit his lip. He knew it was an issue, always needing to _understand_ , even when there was nothing to figure out, no puzzle to solve.

"Okay. I'll try."

"And I can ask no more than that. Thank you," Oswald replied, and by that time they found themselves before Ed's door. Ed unlocked it and shoved it open, closing it behind Oswald and leading him the short distance over to the table, where the last three cupcakes still sat. He hung his own coat on one of the four hooks by the door and held out his hand for Oswald's.

"You can try one if you like?"

"I'd love to," Oswald said, sitting down in one of the chairs and selecting one of the three with precision. Ed watched as Oswald tasted it, comparing Oswald's method of taking a medium bite first, followed by much larger ones, to his own. Ed was meticulous about tasting his food. First he had to smell it, usually getting close enough for step two, which was licking it. Assuming the food was something logical to lick, like frosting, or tea. Sausages, for example, were pointless to lick as one could never get enough flavor. Once that taste proved satisfactory, he would take a small yet substantial bite, enough to coat his entire tongue with the flavor. Then he would nibble at it until it was gone, drawing out the flavor for as long as possible. Unless he was eating a full meal, in which case some foods would be mixed and matched throughout to experiment with flavor combinations.

Oswald was less careful, but his enjoyment was clear as he sucked an errant smudge of frosting off his upper lip and smiled, "That was delicious, Ed. I'm tempted to hide them when I get home, or else Ivy and her friends will be on them in minutes."

"Well, they're for you, so you can decide if you want to share or not."

"You know, I've never been great at sharing."

"Not a lot of people in crime _or_ business are, I'm told."

"What, you've never heard of Robin Hood?"

"One example out of thousands does not prove a case, even if it weren't _fictional_ ," Ed retorted before pointing to his bookshelf, "And I happen to own an 1883 Scribner's original edition of _The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood_ by Howard Pyle thanks to a lucky day at a used bookstore, so..."

"How do you know he was fictional? I thought legends were based on the truth."

"Oftentimes, yes, but the original ballads of Robin Hood portray him as a criminal for profit, not charity, so whomever the legend might have been based on wouldn't count in your favor anyway."

"Huh. I didn't know that."

"Did you know that King Arthur was likely a Celtic king who ruled around the 3rd or 4th century and his castle was probably a smoke-filled, wooden, one-room structure and the round 'table' would have been more like a bunch of his warrior-buddies who sat on benches in a circle around the big fire in the middle? And there were probably lots of livestock wandering around."

"So Camelot isn't quite as special as we're led to believe?"

"Not really. Legends of a great king with a variant of the name 'Arthur' extend further back than masonry. Isn't that neat? We still remember the name of a man who died before humans learned how to properly build with _stone_."

"I'm starting to see why you overwhelm people when you go to museums."

Ed tensed. He had been doing it again, hadn't he?

"I'm sorry. Just tell me to stop when I get like this, it's fine," he bit his lip. It wasn't fine. Logically he knew that it shouldn't bother him, but it still did. He wished he knew more people who got excited over knowledge the way he did.

"No, no, it's cute," Oswald insisted.

Ed blinked.

No one had ever described his excitement as 'cute' before.

"Really?"

"Yeah. I mean, _you're_ cute, and you looked so... _alive_ just now. Just because _I'm_ not the biggest history buff, why would I ever want to stop you from doing something that clearly means a lot to you?"

He wasn't sure, but he thought Oswald meant it.

"Thank you?"

"Oh you're _very_ welcome. That being said," Oswald stood up, "I'm afraid I must be getting back. Hopefully Ivy and her friends haven't obliterated the Lounge while I've been gone, but I'll rest easier once I see for myself."

"Oh, yes, of course," Ed scrambled to fetch the coat that he had hung up some fifteen minutes prior.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" Oswald asked.

"Tomorrow?"

"For breakfast?" he reminded him, "I'm afraid I've become rather accustomed to the high quality merchandise of your bakery."

"Oh. Right. Yes, you'll see me tomorrow," He nodded.

"Good. Can I..?"

Ed's brow creased. Could he what? Oswald stepped towards him, one hand going to where his shoulder met his neck, standing up on the balls of his feet.

Oh.

"Okay," Ed said, not sure what else to say, and leaned down to meet him. Oswald was noticeably more confident than he'd been the last time. Ed searched for a word to describe the kiss. Too gentle to be wholly possessive, too passionate to be wholly chaste. It felt like... belonging. Like Oswald wanted him, but cared about him and what _he_ wanted even more.

All too soon it was over and Oswald was waving farewell as he walked out the door. Ed closed it behind him, once Oswald reached the end of the hall, and he fell back into his chair. Before he had time to savor the moment, the door was sliding back again.

_Hadn't he locked it?_

"Ed!"

Right. Kristen had a key.

Kristen.

Ed blinked down at his watch, and sure enough, 5:32 was blinking back at him.

Kristen burst into the room, all smiles, dragging an equally grinning Lee behind her.

"So I - _we_ \- have the _best_ news, but as excited as I am about that: _Did he do it?_ "

"I'm sorry?" Ed's eyebrows drew together as he tried to decipher her meaning.

"C'mon, Ed, we passed him in the hall on our way in. Did he kiss you?"

Ed coughed, "That's none of your business."

"Aw, don't be that way. I told you _all_ the details on my first date with Lee."

"You did what?" Lee interjected.

"Nevermind, dear," Kristen smiled up at her, "I had only good things to say, I promise."

"Look, I'm not giving you any details because today wasn't our first date. He's taking me to a play next Sunday."

"Ooh, a _play_ ," Kristen gasped overdramatically, "How _romantic_. With dinner?"

"Yes."

"Alright, I'll wait. But I want a play-by-play on Monday."

"Only if you agree to cover for me in the morning. I'll be too tired to get up by four."

"Deal."

Ed grinned, "Okay, so what's _your_ big news?"

Kristen held her hand up in front of his face, showing off the black fire opal. He couldn't contain a genuine gasp of his own, "That's... I was going to say 'awesome' but I think you might prefer gorgeous? Which is definitely true, by the way. And also, you actually asked her! And you said yes!"

"Wait, you knew she was going to?" Kristen asked.

"It's how she kept me distracted during your little... prank."

"I thought you said you were talking about medicine," Kristen turned to Lee, who held up her hands, "I never said that. I may have _implied_ it, but I never said it."

"After I found out it had been a diversion, I wondered whether you'd made the whole thing up," Ed admitted, "If that had been the case, we would've been having words."

"That's sweet," Kristen beamed at him.

"You know, if we had started dating more recently," Lee sat down across from Ed, "I think I might've been subjected to a shovel talk."

"Mm, probably," Ed agreed.

Kristen smirked at him, "Then you'll understand when _your_ new boyfriend gets one, right?"

"Kristen!"

"I'm not kidding. I'll take the register tomorrow, get him when he comes in."

" _Kristen!_ "

"Nope, it's too late to argue. It's happening, Edward. Get used to it," she said, voice firm and hands on her hips.

Ed nodded meekly, "Fine."

"Good," she dropped the act as she joined Lee on the small couch, "You're my friend, Ed, my best friend besides Lee, and I care about you. We both do. Lee thinks he's a good guy, but I'll feel better if he knows you've got backup. The worst sort of people prey on those they think are isolated."

"Like a small town girl new in a big city, whose only connection is her awkward, geeky neighbor?"

"That's exactly my point. That lonely, awkward neighbor was at risk, too. I want to make sure everyone knows you're not him anymore."

"Thank you, Kristen."

"No problem," she said, standing up briefly to give him a hug. She paused when he flinched involuntarily, "Ed?"

"Yes?" he asked, suddenly nervous that she would be mad. It wasn't his place to play the hero for her, after all.

"Are you going to tell me what that is or are you going to make me turn the lights on so I can get a look at it for myself?"

"They're bruises?"

"And where did you get them?" She glanced back at the door, eyes widening, "It wasn't him, was it?"

"Who?" he followed her gaze, "Oh! Oswald? No! It was... "

"Ed?"

He swallowed. There was no getting around this.

"It was Dougherty."

" _What?!_ "

"He's back?"

Ed nodded, "Cops get discounts at the Iceberg Lounge, and he was never fired, so apparently he's a regular," he recalled Oswald's words and corrected himself, " _Was_ a regular."

"Was?"

"Oswald kicked him out after he... did this," he gestured vaguely at himself, "Lee, you wouldn't happen to have anything - ?"

"Of course, Ed. I'll bring something by for you on my way home from work tomorrow," she assured him, "You're positive you're going to be okay? No internal injuries?"

Ed shook his head, "I know what those feel like. This was all just bruises."

Kristen was still standing there, staring at the door. Lee reached out to take her hand and her head snapped around to look at her.

"Hey, are _you_ okay?"

"I - I don't know."

"He doesn't know, if that helps," Ed offered.

"What?"

"He wanted to know where you were. He thought we were still together. I didn't tell him anything. He doesn't know."

"Oh," she fell back into her seat on the couch and Lee immediately brought an arm up around her shoulders, "Thank you."

"You're my best friend, what else should I have done?"

"Still... thank you."

He nodded, biting his lip.

"Alright," Lee spoke up before they could continue, "This was a lot of news on all fronts. We could use some food, I think. On a hunch, I'm going to guess we're all too tired to cook? Why don't I go pick up some take out and Kristen can tell you all about our weekend. I know she's been wanting to all day. We can dwell more on this... new problem when we're better rested and fed."

Ed smiled, thankful to feel the comfortable atmosphere returning, alongside Kristen's excitement.

"A wonderful idea."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story ended up dealing with riskier subjects than I originally intended, so if you have any experience with something I've mentioned & think there's something off about the way I've portrayed it, feel free to offer more accurate alternatives! The only thing I can really relate to in this story is the baking :)
> 
> And I only have one more chapter fully written out, so I'm gonna have to speed up the writing if I want to keep updating as usual. I'm finally taking my driver's test tomorrow, so I hope that doesn't stress me out too much to write. At least I know where I'm going & I'll have plenty of inspiration for the epilogue


	13. The Threat (Oswald)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so we finally get a little bit of a look into Oswald's background (how he met Ivy, why he quit crime, etc.), Kristen's shovel talk, and also some more of Oswald being a badass. That was a lot of fun to write, personally, since I haven't gotten the chance to write much resembling combat in years. Although the dialogue was the really fun part, since one of my favorite traits of the Penguin is how he not only turns the tables on people who think they're stronger than he is, but he also mocks them while he's doing it.   
> I hope you guys have fun with this one!

The Iceberg Lounge was completely intact. The watermelon cupcakes were hidden in a drawer in his nightstand. Ed had promised to see him this morning. Ed had agreed to go on a _date_ with him. Things were good.

It was, he mused, the first time he'd be entering the bakery on good terms with the baker. And he no longer had to worry about how caffeinated his order was, as after a long chat with the head manager, he had officially decided to revert to a normal sleeping schedule. As in, he would leave the Lounge in said manager's capable hands at around 11 p.m. and _actually sleep at night_. What a novel concept.

Waking up in the morning was even _more_ novel. Watching the sun rise, hearing the birds sing, was this how Ed started every day? No wonder he was so full of life. Without the sleep deprivation, he too felt energized. Amazing what a proper amount of sleep could do.

He shrugged on a heavy wool coat, hands in his pockets as he crossed the street. He stopped at the blackboard, reading:

_I'm only useful when I'm heeded_   
_Simply put me where I'm needed_   
_What am I?_

Oswald gave a half shrug. Something to contemplate later. Right now he was too distracted by the prospect of seeing Ed. And of Ed being excited to see him. What a difference a weekend could make.

Pausing at the door to adopt his confident demeanor as usual, Oswald strolled inside.

He frowned when he saw the other o - _Kristen_ \- at the counter. She smiled sweetly at him as he approached.

"Hi, welcome to Puzzles & Pastries, how can I help you?"

"Is Ed here?" he asked. Perhaps he'd fallen unexpectedly ill?

"Yes," she replied, still smiling despite his scowl and offering no further explanation.

"Can I see him?" he bit, trying not to lose his temper. _She's Ed's friend_ , he reminded himself, _he wouldn't appreciate it._

"I suppose that depends," she shrugged, voice incessantly cheerful.

Oswald glowered, grinding out, "Depends. On. What?"

"You."

"I'm sor - ?" He blinked as she leaned across the counter, smile vanishing as her voice dropped to a near-whisper.

"Aside from my fiance, Ed is my dearest friend. I might even consider him a brother. Now, I've heard plenty about you, Mr. Cobblepot - or should I say Mr. Penguin? - and while it's nothing personal, I don't really trust mob bosses, as a rule. Even ones who claim they've left the game. Because to be as successful as you've been, you must have been an excellent manipulator. And if there's one thing I've learned about manipulation, it's that you try to pick your targets. And 'shy, lonely baker across the street' has just the right amount of vulnerability to be enticing to the wrong sort of person. But Ed is not alone. I know what it's like to be hurt by the person that you thought you loved - by the person that you thought loved you - and under no circumstances will I permit that to happen to Ed."

Oswald blinked again, "Are you threatening me?"

Kristen smirked, "I am. I don't care that you're wealthy. I don't care that you've probably killed people. If you try to isolate Ed, if you hurt him in any way, if you so much as _hold his hand_ without his consent, you will find yourself in the unfortunate position of being hunted down by two _incredibly_ pissed off women. And if any of this bother you, or angers you, or _amuses_ you, you can turn around and walk right back out those doors. Understood?"

The Penguin wanted to cackle madly at the idea that this woman _dared_ to presume she was a match for him, but Oswald had put the Penguin in his past and, unless the need arose, intended to keep him there. He _had_ promised his parents, after all. As Oswald Cobblepot - responsible brother, dutiful son, and cunning businessman - her fierce protectiveness of Ed was almost sweet. Ed had seemed so very fragile on his couch that night, huddled under Ivy's blanket, and later, after he had fainted. It was a comfort to know he had someone like Kristen looking out for him.

"Understood," he inclined his head, "And thank you."

She drew back at that, her mouth and brows turning downwards, "What for?"

"For being the sort of friend that Ed deserves," he replied honestly, "After the... fight, it's good to know he has a support network. And whether you believe me or not, I have no ill intentions towards Edward. I am, quite frankly, astonished that he has even agreed to a date with me in the first place. I consider myself lucky to have gained his trust thus far and I will not jeopardize a relationship that I desire by abusing that power. Are you satisfied?"

One corner of her mouth twitched upwards again, "For now. May I take your order?"

"A cherry turnover and a medium coffee. Dark roast."

"No watermelon smoothie this time?" she asked with a wink.

"Trust me, as delicious as it was, I will be having more than my fair share of watermelon flavored things today," he assured her. She raised an eyebrow, "Did he make you the cupcakes?"

"Yes," he frowned, "How did you know?"

"That was one of the first presents he ever gave me when he was trying to get my attention, back in the old days, when we thought we were straight. He never sells those. They're for special occasions only, like our annual summer party, or a courting attempt. You want to know a secret?"

She leaned over the counter again, and this time Oswald leaned forward too to hear her nigh inaudible whisper, "I can't stand them, personally. Artificial watermelon flavor is just off to me. But I've eaten three at every summer party since we became friends because he's so damn _proud_ of them."

Oswald smiled, "Well, good thing I really _do_ like them, then. But I like your spirit. You are definitely the best friend Ed could ask for."

She shrugged, "I saved him from death; he saved me from worse - my own tendency to let people walk all over me like a rug. Pretty solid foundation for a friendship, if you ask me."

"I understand," Oswald nodded. And he did. His situation with Ivy was much the same, after all. When Oswald had risen to fame, a nasty piece of libel had emerged, digging into his and his mother's relationship and past, seeking to drag him down _through_ her. Rest assured, that particular magazine had shut down after every single employee, employer, and board member had been systematically deprived of first their hands and then their hearts (not that Oswald believed they'd ever had them, not after reading what they'd written about his dear mother).

But one good thing had arisen from that unfortunate trial. He'd been approached by an older man, wealthy, while walking down the street one day.

_"Oswald?" he'd said, "Oswald Cobblepot?"_

_"The Penguin to you," he'd shot back, not feeling particularly inclined to speak with strangers, whether friend or foe._

_"Gertrude Kapelput is your mother?"_

_That had stopped him cold. Had he somehow missed someone involved in that awful article? Or was this some moron who had read the story and wanted to know if it was true?_

_"Yes."_

_"How - How old are you?" the man had asked._

_Oswald had frowned, growing confused._

_"I'm... 31? Why?"_

_"31 years ago, yes. That's right. Oh my god, she... she never told me!"_

_"Who... never told you... what?"_

_"Gertrude. She never - she never told me that I had a son."_

That moment in time would be forever burned into his memory. His father - his _father_ \- had appeared, 31 years later. His father who he'd always thought was dead. A rich man. A lonely rich man who was still very much in love with Oswald's mother. And whom his mother was still very much in love with as well.

Once they'd met again, there was no separating them. And for the first time in his life, Oswald felt both surrounded by love and outnumbered as a criminal. Neither his mother nor his father approved of his activities, for all he pretended they didn't know about them.

Finally, some time after Oswald had acquired his latest piece of real estate - a nightclub in a shabby but promising neighborhood - Elijah had sat him down and asked him if there was anything they could do to convince him to stop. To end the Penguin's career.

Oswald wasn't sure. Could he preserve his wealth and power without the crime to back it up? What would he do?

Elijah showed him his vast inheritance, spoke with him about possible hobbies or career changes, until they'd eventually agreed upon Oswald handing off all his illicit business and focusing on the legal ones. The majority of his time would be spent on the club.

Assured that their son had become a good man, Elijah and Gertrude decided to marry, 31 years later than they'd wanted, but still better than never, and take a 'honeymoon' year in Europe.

But Oswald's concerns hadn't been unfounded. Not three weeks after he'd begun cutting ties with the criminal world, even while he was still ages away from publicly announcing the split (he wanted the Iceberg Lounge fully finished first), he'd found himself physically and violently attacked. It was only thanks to the ingenuity and curious kindness of a street girl that he'd pulled through, being still too wanted to risk a hospital. She'd patched him up and waited with him to make sure he was okay before sending him on his way.

After a week of obsessing over why a stranger would care so much, he decided to track her down, discovering her working in a musty basement for some low level gang. The chain of command still extended all the way up to him, so it was hardly a task to extract her from the position and thank her in the only way Oswald knew how: with money, favors, and friendship. Somehow, that had blended into their current state, with Ivy officially the ward of his parents (who were back in Europe), but for the most part under his guardianship.

So yes, Oswald could definitely understand a strong friendship built upon mutual rescue. He tried to imagine what Kristen must think of him. What would he do if Ivy wanted to date someone untrustworthy, shady, _unsavory_? Someone like her old boss, Sonny Gilzean.

The truth?

He'd probably put a hit out on him.

"Oswald?"

His head snapped up at the familiar voice, "Ed?"

The door to the kitchen swung shut behind the taller man as he hurried out from behind the counter to envelop Oswald in a hug. He lifted his own arms to wrap them around the baker, reveling in the feeling of stiff fabric against his hands and the warm, solid flesh beneath it. He could _definitely_ get used to hugging Ed.

"She wasn't too harsh, I hope?"

Oswald laughed, "Not anymore than she should have been."

"I did try to warn you..."

"You did?"

Ed frowned at him, "The riddle..?"

Oswald thought back over the words, "Oh. I hadn't gotten around to solving it yet."

"It's okay. I'm just glad to know anybody's reading them at all."

"Alright you two," Kristen interrupted, holding Oswald's order out towards him, "Ed, I didn't hurt him, now don't you have an egg braid to be shaping?"

"Oh. Right," he bit his lip, "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Of course," Oswald replied, reaching up to tuck a loose strand of Ed's hair behind his ear, fingertips brushing his temple, "Until tomorrow."

He stepped back, accepting his breakfast from Kristen and settling down in his favorite chair as Ed returned to the kitchen and Kristen retook her spot behind the register. What a good start to the day.

If only it had continued that way.

Oswald was sitting in his office, watching the minute hand slowly approach the hour hand as noon arrived. Would it be too much to have lunch at the bakery, too? It would definitely be too much. Right?

He tapped a pen on the desk, debating it back and forth with himself when one of his day staff knocked on the door.

"Yes?"

"There's a man here to see you. Police."

Oswald froze. Had one of his black market dealers sold him out? Or was this about that rat bastard he'd threatened, whatever his name was?

"Send him in."

The man appeared in the doorway, strutting in like he owned the place, and Oswald snorted. Yes, it _was_ what's-his-name. Something with a 'D'.

"I thought I told you never to set foot in this district again?"

The man reached his desk, but Oswald didn't stand, leaning back and folding his hands primly as the brute attempted to loom over him.

"I just had a chat with your old buddy, Jim Gordon. You know, the one who made that deal with you in the first place? Whose best friend is acting captain?"

"Oh," said Oswald sarcastically, snapping his fingers, " _That_ Jim Gordon. I thought you meant the other one."

"What other one?" the cop blinked.

Oswald smiled up at him, "Above your pay grade, obviously. Go on? What about Jim?"

"He said the deal was _all_ cops get priority entrance and discounts. You can't kick me out. Not unless you want the entire GCPD to come down on this place like lightning and thunder."

"What, flashy and loud?"

"Hard and fast."

"Are you propositioning me? Is the 'entire' GCPD propositioning me? Because, sorry, not interested," he held up a hand as if to halt the other man, "Either that, or you just described thunder as 'hard', which _honestly_ where do they _find_ you? I heard Jim and Bullock had to be told that weather balloons fall back to Earth. Gotham's finest," he clucked his tongue and shook his head, "Finest _what?_ is the real question."

The man was staring at him now and Oswald shook his head, pulling his expression back to his best placating one, "But don't worry, friend. I am a man of my word. I shall keep my promise."

"So I'm not banned?"

"Oh, no. You're definitely banned."

"But I thought - "

Oswald shook his head again, "Wrong promise, _friend_."

"What - ?"

Oswald finally stood, pushing his chair back slowly as he rose, one hand beneath the desk pressing the button to alert his staff that there was a threat in his office. His other hand slid a drawer open soundlessly, locked to his fingerprints and containing his favorite pistol.

"I promised you that if I ever saw you here again, I would remind you what it means to be 'The Penguin'. It would be wrong of me, don't you think, to break my word mere days after giving it."

The cop scowled at him, reaching for his own weapon, but Oswald was faster.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

"You can't shoot me. I'm with the police. You attack me and it'll be forty highly-skilled cops against one of you."

Oswald laughed openly, "First of all, don't you think 'highly-skilled' is a _little_ generous? And what makes you think I'm alone? You genuinely believe that I, the King of Gotham, would be bereft of guards? There's not a single employee under my command that hasn't undergone full combat training, and I have more than a few specialists. That's," he flicked his fingers up and down, pretending to count, "Oh, seventy-three fighters with various degrees of military-level training to your forty _mediocre_ cops. My empire hasn't gone anywhere, and you must be _truly_ oblivious if you think that it has. Oh, a war with the police would be inconvenient, sure, but more than worth my time and effort if that's what it takes to remind the police that they do _not_ rule me."

"Then how come you have shot me yet?" the man - Dougherty! that was it - scoffed, "See? There's something you're scared of."

"Scared? That's not the word I would use," Oswald leered, stepping closer until he was within arm's reach of him, "Excited, more like."

It _had_ been such a long time...

"Excited? What for?"

"This," Oswald replied, sliding what posed as a decoration on his gun forward, revealing a hidden blade. A modern bayonet, if he would (and he _definitely_ would). The blade shot forward, tearing through Dougherty's jacket and burying itself into the flesh, bone, and muscle of his right shoulder. Oswald yanked it out, ignoring the small spurt of blood as he switched the gun to his nondominant hand and hefted his cane, bringing the solid metal smashing down on the same spot he'd hit just days earlier. When Dougherty bent in pain, he took the opportunity to bring a couple more blows down on his back and neck, sending him crashing to the ground.

He set the cane down, bracing himself against it as he lifted his good leg and stomped hard on Dougherty's head pressing his face into the carpet.

"I am still the Penguin. Never doubt that again," he hissed, "And _never. Set foot. In Diamond District. Again._ There is only one man you should fear more than you fear me. And he is my friend. You saw him on Saturday. Consider this meeting your warning. If you ever come back, you'll be dealing with him. Do we understand one another?"

A muffled sound came from beneath his foot and he eased it off the man, allowing Dougherty to raise his head, "Yes."

"Good," he stepped back tapping the form on the ground with his cane, "Get going. My staff will show you out."

"That's not - "

"Oh, no. They insist," Oswald pulled the door open, gesturing at the hallway where a line of heavily armed janitors (who made up the majority of the day staff) stood in wait.

Dougherty dragged himself to his feet, blood pouring from his shoulder, nose and mouth as he stumbled out of the room, finding himself immediately surrounded. Oswald returned to his desk, retracting the bayonet on his gun and stashing it away once more. He knew his staff would see Dougherty to the door.

Unfortunately, he forgot that there might have been a reason to escort him further than that. Neither Oswald nor any of his staff noticed as the cop's eyes landed on a window across the street, or, more accurately, a certain red-haired figure who could clearly be seen bringing a sandwich and a drink out to another red-haired girl in the front of the shop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the sort-of cliffhanger. Part of the reason I'm a day late on posting is bc the next chapter wasn't finished & I didn't want to keep people waiting too long for the follow up. The next chapter was really hard to write because it involves a scene between Kristen & Dougherty which I struggled to finish. Partly because it's difficult to write someone being such a nasty individual, and partly because I wasn't sure how Kristen would react. I'll see how you guys find it, I guess!
> 
> Also, fair warning, I'm going to be in the car a lot the next few days, so whether I'm going to be late or not with my posting depends entirely on whether or not I have my laptop with me. If I do, I'll get lots of writing done (I hope), but if not, then I hope everyone can wait until next week for the conclusion of the plot & the 5-part fluff ending!


	14. The Ex (Kristen)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing Dougherty in this chapter was difficult, but I think the easiest way to describe both it & what I've been trying to articulate about Oswald is that I decided to make Dougherty a sort of foil to Oswald. Both are these great natural manipulators who are used to using people to get what they want, but the difference is that Oswald makes a conscious effort to not do that to the people he cares about. Furthermore, he constantly worries about accidentally manipulating or otherwise using those people. With Ivy, he's the most open because he knows that she can recognize his manipulative behavior & that she can hold her own. But he still doesn't know Ed that well, so he fusses a lot. By contrast, Dougherty isn't even _that_ interested in Kristen, he's just enraged by the idea that someone could break away. He doesn't see others as real in comparison to himself, just objects to be used, and having a tool fight back is not something he can, in his mind, allow.
> 
> In any case, I tried to convey all that in their confrontation, so if that idea upsets you, then this chapter probably isn't for you. The last five chapters are back to the regularly scheduled fluff if that's what you'd like to see, but today and tomorrow feature some unpleasantness.

The bell rang and she smiled as she saw the bright red hair and bright green clothes of the bakery's newest associate.

"Miss Ivy! What can I do for you today?"

The girl gave her a bright smile, "I thought I'd take a break from studying, get lunch, maybe do some sketching. You guys do sandwiches, right?"

Kristen nodded, "More or less. We haven't got quite the range of a regular sandwich shop. We can do sunflower butter and jam or tomato and basil with optional cheese. And you can choose from any of the breads on the shelf," she gestured at the hanging cubicles on the wall behind her, each featuring two identical loaves of bread, one sliced and one whole. The sliced was for sandwiches and the whole could be bought as a loaf. Day old bread was sold at half price, and two-plus day old bread was free.

"Tomato basil, no cheese," Ivy answered, peering at the bread, "And I'll have it on rye, please."

"It'll be ready in a minute," Kristen assured her, "Any drinks?"

"Do you serve your green tea hot or warm?"

"Warm," Kristen smiled. Ed had made sure of that.

"Then I'll have a green tea."

"Of course. I can bring it out to you, if you want to get set up sketching or something."

"Thanks!"

"No problem," Kristen turned to the heated liquid dispensers. They had two kinds of coffee and two temperatures of hot water, one for black teas and one for green teas. She made sure to use the green tea one as she filled a mug, grabbing a sealed tea packet and placing it on the tray alongside it. The sandwich was simply a matter of taking two slices of bread and laying tomato slices and basil leaves on top, and the entire thing was constructed in, quite literally, a minute.

She picked up the tray and skirted around the counter to bring it over to the window booth where Ivy sat, sketching the outline of the Iceberg Lounge, which was clearly visible from her seat.

"Is there anything else I can get you?"

Ivy glanced up, "No, thank you. It smells delicious."

"We try our best."

"You succeed."

Kristen smiled at her in thanks and returned to the register, turning just in time to hear the bell of the shop indicating a new customer. She donned her customer service smile, looked up, and froze.

It was him.

Tom Dougherty.

He hardly looked different from three years ago - his shoulder was bandaged haphazardly, and his hair was cut shorter, perhaps. And without the rose-tinted glasses she'd used on him before, she could see the lines of cruelty in his scowl and cold eyes. Once upon a time she'd been attracted to his confidence and dominance, the way he acted like he was the best at everything, like he was the ultimate decider. Now, not so much. She saw through the act to his selfishness and jealousy, to his possessiveness and dismissiveness. Even when they went through their honeymoon phases, the times when he bought her gifts and spoke so sweetly, he'd never supported her as an individual. It was always about trying to win her back, like she was a prize, not a person.

But for all she had become aware of what she had once missed, she had no clue how to act now. Ed was in the kitchen working on the last batch of brownies for the day, a safe choice for later on in a day as they kept well overnight if they didn't sell out. But Ed was still heavily battered from the last encounter he'd had with the cop. Apart from him, the only other person in the building was Ivy - oh god, _Ivy_. She was just a kid. Kristen resisted the urge to cover her mouth at the thought. Surely he wouldn't hurt Ivy, right? But she had so grossly misjudged Dougherty's boundaries before, how should she know what he would and would not do?

He reached the counter, the cold look in his eyes bleeding into a burning fury, even as the rest of his face lifted in a sweet smile. Kristen vaguely recalled folk tales of shape-shifting demons that would not be ill-fitting.

" _Kristen_ ," he said her name amiably, almost beseeching, the way he had always said it when he wanted something out of her, "My, it's been _ages_ since that little misunderstanding drove us apart. You look just as pretty as ever, if a little," he glanced around the bakery dismissively, " _overworked_. It's hard to imagine a strong woman like you wasting away in a kitchen like this. It breaks my heart. Maybe we could catch up sometime?"

Kristen pursed her lips, fingers gripping the countertop tightly as she mentally searched for something defensive should he turn violent.

"I don't recall a misunderstanding," she bit out.

"No? I'm not sure what else you'd call it. You were so mad, you didn't even give me a chance to explain. We're meant to be, Kristen. I love you like no one else ever could, and I know, deep down, you still love me. So what do you say we forgive and forget? The way you keep pretending like you like him better than me is cute, but it's a little overplayed, don't you think? Now be a good girl and come back to me, okay? I promise I won't be too mad if you just say you're mine again."

His words sent a chill down her spine, but she hid her fear behind apathy. The way he described her as a petulant child or a wayward pet was making her skin crawl. She was different from Ed in that way. When someone was belittling her, she got caught up on her discomfort, rather than dissociating far enough to see the humor in the situation. If she had been like him, she might have latched on to the irony of Tom describing her as such when only moments earlier he had been bemoaning the fate of a 'strong woman'.

But instead she just frowned.

"I'm afraid I don't know who or what you mean. I certainly have purged any deep feelings I may have once had for you, and I wasn't aware you knew my fiance," she raised one eyebrow, holding up her hand to show off the ring. Partly in the hopes that he would back off, and also partly because she knew Lee was levels above him in terms of salary and he'd never have been able to afford something so nice.

There was not, she decided, any reason to suggest her fiance was a woman. That opened up a whole world of insults and entreaties that she could live without hearing.

Dougherty's demeanor changed in a flash, morphing into sheer ferocity. Once upon a time, she'd mistaken the fear she'd felt when facing that expression as lust. Having at last felt true love and the lust that tended to accompany it, she now identified the terror for what it had always been.

Before she could retract her hand, he lunged forward and wrapped his fingers around her wrist, digging painfully into the flesh. The grip was easily hard enough to bruise. It was a move she was familiar with, but as her heartrate spiked with fear, she could do little more than breathe in sharply. On instinct, she glanced to the side and locked eyes with Ivy, who was staring in unblinking shock at them.

"You're _engaged_?" he snarled, eyeing the ring, "To the freak?"

Kristen opened her mouth - to deny it? to defend Ed? to cry from the pain? - but no sound emerged.

All at once he let her go, taking a step back with a dark chuckled, "Just remember: I can easily get any information I want. I'm the police. And it looks like I've got a wedding to crash. See you around."

With that, he spun on his heel and strode out of the bakery. Kristen didn't move.

"Holy shit."

She jumped, turning to meet Ivy's wide eyes once more.

"What a jerk," she scrunched up her nose, "That's the same asshole who beat up Ed. He must be pretty dumb to come back here after Ozzie set Vicky on him."

"After who did what?" Kristen asked rather faintly.

"Oswald? He's friends with this badass assassin guy, Victor Zsasz. Who also happens to be a super fun dude, but that's beside the point. And after that jackass caused a scene, Os told him to scram or he'd let Zsasz go wild. And _boy_ can that guy do wild."

"I - I'll take your word for it," Kristen blinked at her. Assassins? What?

"Yeah," Ivy grinned, looking off to the side as if she were reminiscing, "Somehow I doubt you'd enjoy watching him work close up."

"Um," said Kristen, wondering if this were the sort of thing a person was supposed to report.

"Nah, don't worry about it," Ivy laughed, waving a hand dismissively as if she could read Kristen's thoughts, "Vicky knows Os would have a fit if he let me watch the _real_ work. Mostly I just get the undoubtedly-exaggerated-though-he-swears-they're-not stories over ice cream or funnel cake or something."

"Oh. Good?"

"Yeah, he's hilarious," Ivy said and Kristen was pretty sure she was being serious. Huh.

"So, um, shouldn't you like, tell Ed? Or your fiance? About what happened, I mean. You should be around people who know you. That was honestly so terrifying and I was just watching, so, you know, you need people who can recognize your warning signs," Ivy fidgeted as she spoke, aware that it was an awkward topic yet also determined to do what needed to be done.

Kristen nodded, "You're right. That was... unexpected."

"And you're shaking."

Kristen glanced down at her hands to find the girl was right, "Oh. Um, right. You'll be fine on your own, I trust? I'll just... go find Ed."

"Don't worry about me. I hope you'll be in a better place, soon," Ivy offered. Kristen smiled at her, although it didn't quite reach her eyes due to the state she was  _currently_ in.

"Thank you."

She turned and walked into the kitchen, marveling at how mundane a sight it was. A pan of brownies fresh from the oven, the pan still too hot to touch, was sitting on the stove top. Ed was crouched by the counter, watching as the dough squeezed out of the cookie press, twisting the screw down until it reached the edges of the frame, at which point he pulled the whole device straight upwards, leaving a perfectly shaped sun behind.

Before he could get started on the next one, she coughed, waiting patiently for him to jump and spin around and almost-but-not-quite drop the press.

"Kristen! I thought you were watching the register?"

"I was," she bit her lip.

His eyes scanned her nervous and probably still scared face before dropping to her shaking hands, "Kristen? What happened? What's wrong?"

"He showed up."

Ed didn't need a name to know who she meant.

He practically threw the press on the counter, taking a step towards her before stopping, "Ohmygod, are you okay? Did he hurt you? Is he still here?"

"Slow down," she held up a hand, "Maybe, sort of, and no."

"Sort of? What do you mean, sort of?"

She self-consciously rubbed at her wrist where he'd grabbed it, and Ed's gaze immediately flickered down to the movement.

"It's not nearly as bad as what he did to you," she said, "Pretty much the same as what he always did to me."

"That's - that's no excuse," Ed muttered, "You should text Lee. It's almost her lunch break anyway. Ask her to come around, tell her what happened. She can help you with that and, and anything else you might be feeling."

"Are you sure it wouldn't be a bother?" she asked, knowing it wouldn't but being unable to stop the old insecurities that Dougherty's presence had dug up.

"I think she'd rather you tell her now," Ed responded seriously, understanding, "She would want to be here for you."

Kristen nodded, "Okay. I'll text her."

"Good."

She pulled out her phone, sending a quick series of texts describing the encounter in as detached a way as possible before asking if Lee wouldn't mind seeing her for lunch. She tucked it back into her pocket without waiting for a response. Lee didn't like to keep her cell on during work hours, since she quite reasonably didn't want to be distracted from her patients.

"Do you want to take a break?" Ed asked, expression almost comically worried. Kristen felt the corner of her mouth quirk up into a real smile, "Not really. Mind if I take over from you for awhile? I think something repetitive like shaping spritz might be cathartic right about now."

"Of course," Ed stepped away from the counter, "Do you want me to stay, or should I watch the register?"

"If you don't mind, stay? We can hear the bell from in here, and I'd appreciate the company."

Ed gave her an understanding smile.

"Of course."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that all worked out well as far as characterization! I don't remember a lot about Dougherty's personality, but I basically decided to make it a three-tiered manipulative behavior sort of thing. Tier one is being nice, tier two is a mixture of coaxing & threatening, and tier three is straight up violence. 
> 
> I don't know for sure when I'll update next, but I'll try to maintain a regular pattern. We're getting towards the end, so things should start drawing together.


	15. The Avenger (Ivy)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay warning here for Ivy drugging/poisoning Dougherty. I debated back and forth on the best way for her to react, but in the end I settled on something that drew from what little I know about her in the comics. I hope this is a satisfactory way to wrap things up for everyone!  
> Also you may have noticed a change in the chapter numbers. I added a short bonus chapter from Jim's perspective that should be up in a couple of days. And I hope the addition of a couple of rather unimportant OCs doesn't detract from the story! I just didn't want to introduce more canon characters, since the plot is almost over.

Ivy sat on a couch in the lounge, stroking the purple leaves of her potted Oxalis triangularis, frowning. She hadn't known Kristen for very long, but she already liked her. And besides, even if she had been a total stranger, Ivy still would have wanted to do something. No one deserved to have a jerk like that in their life.

The only question was: what?

She'd asked the group chat that was just Bridgit, Selina, and her, and their responses had been predictable

_B: You hold him down_

_B: I'll light him on fire_

_B: Bam_

_B: Problem solved_

_C: Not every problem can be solved with flames_

_B: Bullshit_

_C: Here's what we do_

_C: You go down to the station_

_C: Find out where he lives_

_C: We break in & look for dirt_

_I: And if there is not dirt?_

_C: We make some_

_C: Easy_

_B: I still vote fire_

_I: Fire's not really my style you know_

_B: Do you have any anti-douchebag plants?_

_B: Didn't think so_

_B: FIRE_

_B: Works every time_

_I: Actually..._

_I: I think I know just the thing_

Look's like asking the group chat wasn't such a bad idea, after all. Ivy stuck her phone in her pocket and took a step towards Oswald's office. She stopped.

No, better not get him involved. If she was going to go around antagonizing policemen, she couldn't let him get dragged down, too. He was a fabulous liar, but perhaps it would be better if he were in the dark just this once. She promised herself she would tell him once the police came poking their noses where they weren't wanted, or in a week if they didn't investigate. Wait until he was in the clear, first.

She sent a text to one of Oswald's numerous drivers, the one that had picked her up from the greenhouse after her failed attempt at matchmaking. She had a feeling he liked her, but she had yet to experience any such emotions herself and was unsure. But if he was willing to do things for her just because she looked a certain way, who was she to stop him?

He responded almost instantly, agreeing to pick her up and take her to the greenhouse. Within minutes, he was in front of the Lounge, holding open the passenger side door of another luxury vehicle for her. He gave a small bow and a nervous smile as she sat down and she returned the smile with a brilliant one that made him trip. As he moved around to the driver's seat, she considered him. He was cute, she supposed, and he seemed nice. Was that attraction? After listening to Oswald wax poetic for the last five months, she kind of doubted it. She didn't feel awkward or nervous in his presence. Sure, his eyes were rather pretty, but she didn't want to write poetry about them or get lost staring into them.

Maybe it was the fact that he was always trying to do things for her? Don't get her wrong, she loved being catered to, but... it _would_ get a little dull. She always imagined herself being with somebody with a little more... spirit. Like Victor Zsasz, but you know, not _him_. Maybe if the driver was a bit more Zsasz-like..?

Or maybe she just wasn't there yet. She didn't know.

Well, might as well take advantage of free services in the meantime. Oswald would be proud, she was sure.

The car pulled into the driveway of the greenhouse and the driver turned to her.

"Do you want me to wait here?"

"If you wouldn't mind," she smiled at him again, "I don't know how long this will take me. If I get done early enough, I'm going to have another stop to make. That's not a problem, is it?"

She threw in a pout, just to see what it would do. Her mind wandered back to a day, years and years ago, camping out in some rich lady's apartment with Cat. That woman had spoken about using one's appearance as a weapon. Well, if that were true, she'd need some practice using it properly, especially if she wanted to use it on people who were a little less... eager.

Apparently it worked. The driver was shaking his head vehemently, "Of course not! Your wish is my command, Miss Ivy!"

Well that was sweet. And yet more proof that she would get bored of him in less than a week if she had to spend any significant amount of time around him. She got out of the car as he had scurried around to her side and opened the door.

"Thank you, Mr..?"

"Ellis. But most people just call me Felician."

"Thank you, Felician," she said, for good measure. Oswald had always been a firm believer in the power of names, and if his success was anything to go by, his methods certainly worked.

"It's my pleasure, Miss Ivy."

She just smiled and turned away, leaving him to close the door and find something to do while she headed inside. She locked the door behind her - should he come looking for her for whatever reason, he might damage some of her plants. Once that was taken care of, she moved around the greenhouse, picking out a variety of plants and placing them carefully in a basket. Once she had everything she needed from that floor, she placed the basket on the dumbwaiter and lowered it to the basement.

Taking the stairs, herself, she snatched up a few mushrooms along the way and added them to the basket when she retrieved it. The entire thing was brought to the lab in the far corner of the basement, a place where she could spend hours on end mixing various concoctions from her precious plants.

Today, though, she had a very specific end goal in mind. It wouldn't be pleasant - and she doubted it was legal - but it _was_ irreversible and it should stop Dougherty from preying on anyone else, without actually killing him. And if the main effect wasn't enough to end his career in assholery, there was an extremely common side effect that would make physical violence difficult for him to sustain. It might end his ability to work as an officer in the field, but helping the GCPD had never been her priority. Besides, with so many hotheads on the force, they'd probably appreciate someone stuck behind a desk.

With that thought in mind, she set about extracting the chemicals she would need from the plants she had brought, as well as a few extras that should stabilize the mixture and allow it to be precise and effective. She also needed to make sure the poison - for lack of a better word - could be mixed into food. She couldn't just sneak into the GCPD and inject an officer, nor could she use the same tactic she'd tried on Oswald. Dougherty would never agree to 'try something out' for her. No, this would be mixed into one of her remaining muffins from breakfast on Sunday.

Dougherty hadn't eaten at the bakery. He didn't know how good their food was. Ivy could pass off her own attempt as a peace offering from the bakery (she didn't want to specify which baker, hoping the uncertainty would throw a wrench in any potential thoughts of revenge), and Dougherty would undoubtedly accept it. From what she'd seen at both the bar and the bakery, it was clear that he wanted everyone to treat him the way Felician treated her. So graciously accepting a tribute would be perfectly in character for him.

Once Ivy finished her concoction, she filled a syringe with it and injected it into the muffin she had brought along. A glance at her phone informed her that there should easily still be time to reach the GCPD. Good. She didn't test her creation. Testing on animals was despicable, in her mind, as the animals had done nothing to deserve it. Humans, on the other hand... well, as long as she knew they were guilty beforehand.

But she didn't have time to find another guilty person right now. Besides, it hardly mattered. If it didn't work, no harm done. She just had to try again. Or ask Zsasz nicely and maybe offer him a sundae afterwards. He'd probably do it anyway, but he liked to keep up the pretense of only working for money and never for friends. And if it did something she hadn't planned... how bad could it be? It wasn't as if she really _cared_ about not killing him, it's just that she didn't want to create any extra work for Oswald. But if it came down to it, she _could_ bury her tracks.

So really, what need did she have of a test run?

The only _bad_ scenario would be if the mixture somehow made him stronger, which seemed unlikely, but again, she was buddies with Zsasz. Besides, that still had the positive outcome of giving her something to work on. Because that should not be an outcome _at all_ , so if it was, that meant she still had more to learn about her plants. Maybe she could even ask Ed to help out, since she'd heard he was supposed to be good with science.

Muffin in a box in her hand, she emerged from the house to find the car precisely where she'd left it, Felician sitting with his feet on the dashboard, singing along to some song that was playing far too loudly and air-drumming. So that's what the employees got up to when they were 'on hold' so to speak.

She walked up to the car and knocked on the window, working to contain her laughter as he fell sideways in his scramble to get his feet down, turn the volume down, and get out all at once. Definitely not her type.

Before he could open his own door, she slid into the passenger seat.

"But - wait - I - "

"Mhm," she said, "I _do_ know how to open a door, and I'm in a bit of a hurry."

"I'm so sorry, Miss Ivy. Where to?"

"The GCPD."

"What?" Felician did a double-take, "Why?"

"Personal business," she replied, not wanting anyone to know too much, "Nothing big. Just... personal."

"Oh, of course. My apologies, Miss Ivy."

"It's fine."

The drive to the GCPD was short and quiet, Felician, no doubt, trying to determine if he had somehow overstepped and, if so, how to amend that. Ivy was preoccupied with coming up with a convincing story should she be stopped on her way in. Should she have disguised herself? Would she be recognized as Oswald's (well, technically his _parents'_ ) ward?

They pulled up to the station and she told Felician she would just be a moment.

She hadn't been inside the GCPD before. It was actually rather impressive, in its own way. Nothing on the Iceberg Lounge, of course, but still somewhat intimidating. And more than a little chaotic.

She headed over to what seemed like an information kiosk of sorts.

"Hello, how can we help you?" the lady at the desk asked.

"I'm looking for Officer Dougherty?" she said in her best innocent-and-confused voice. The lady frowned at her, "Are you sure?"

"I'm sorry?"

"It's just..." she leaned forward, lowering her voice, "Aren't you a little young for him?"

"Huh?" Ivy frowned, before it clicked and her eyes widened, "Oh! No no, we're not - I'm not - I'm here on behalf of a friend."

"Oh. I see."

"Yes, she asked me to deliver a gift to him," she lifted the box, "An apology."

"Hmm," the lady didn't stop frowning, "Tell your friend to be careful with that one. He has... a history."

"l've heard," Ivy nodded, "And she knows. Things are under control."

"Good. He's down there, third desk on the right. Good luck to you and your friend."

"Thanks!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, tomorrow Ivy will give a somewhat glossed-over description of her poison to Oswald, since I want the focus of this story to be on the positive, but for anyone who enjoys that satisfactory vengeful feeling when bad people get what's coming to them, I think you'll like what she's done. 
> 
> I hope you're all enjoying it so far; comments & kudos are always appreciated!


	16. The Officer (Oswald)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright so somehow I lost the second half of this chapter & had to rewrite it. That's never fun. Anyways, here goes. There's one more tiny piece of wrapping up the plot after this, and then that fluffy ending I keep promising!

Tuesday had kicked off much more smoothly than the day before. It had been a cheerful Ed rather than a protective Kristen that had greeted him at the bakery that morning, urging him to try a croissant, rather than his usual turnover, as there was a fresh batch still warm from the oven. Agreeing had been one of the best decisions he'd ever made, he thought, as he savored the flaky-textured, butter-flavored baked good.

He'd returned home to a message that his usual table at the dinner theatre had been reserved for Sunday and another that the suit he had ordered a week or so ago was ready for him to try. Good things all around.

So naturally Jim Gordon had to pick that moment to barge into the Iceberg Lounge, unannounced, and demand that he accompany him down to the station.

"On what grounds?" Oswald asked, sitting at his desk with his hands folded beneath his chin. He had ignored the survival instinct telling him to cooperate and meet the cops, instead 'inviting' them up to his office. Jim had brought Bullock along. How lovely.

"One of our officers has gone missing, and just _yesterday_ he was complaining to me about your treatment of him."

"Dougherty?" he questioned before he could stop himself, genuinely surprised. Surely Dougherty had survived that small beating Oswald had put him through. It shouldn't have killed a weak man, much less a cop who regularly worked in the field.

"Oh, so you're familiar with this situation?" Jim rolled his eyes, "Let me guess, you 'politely' asked him to leave, nothing more?"

"Not at all," Oswald sniffed in the manner of one greatly offended and sat up an inch straighter, "Your Officer Dougherty created a disturbance Saturday night when he assaulted another patron of the Lounge. I made it quite clear to him what would happen should he ever return. I did indeed fight him on two separate occasions, but both times he threatened violence first, in addition to knowledgeably committing criminal offenses. On Saturday, it was assault, and on Monday, it was trespassing. I acted only in self-defense. _Furthermore_ , none of my actions resulted in permanent or fatal harm. He walked out unaided after both encounters. I have the security footage to back me up if you are not satisfied."

"No, we most certainly aren't," Bullock grumbled. Oswald raised an eyebrow at him, "Surely you don't think _I_ would lie to you?"

"Uh huh, Penguin - "

"Mr. Cobblepot, I insist. I left that name behind long ago."

"Alright, Cobblepot, I wouldn't trust you to take a bag of trash to the bin, much less take your word for something like this. Now why don't you run along and get us those security videos. Those I might - _might_ \- believe."

Oswald smiled derisively at him, "They make you _run_ to get things at the police station? What utter barbarians."

He flipped a switch under the arm of his throne-like chair and the image of stone on the wall to his right faded out, replaced with the current feed from each of his forty-five security cameras. He reached out to the desk in front of him and found the latch, raising a part of the desk itself up to access the laptop built inside and quickly locating the camera files for the camera situated at the front doors. He estimated the times and soon enough had played the footage from both confrontations.

In the one from Saturday, Dougherty stalked off, face twisted up in rage. In the one on Monday, he was limping, still snarling, but with each step his face would contort into a pained grimace.

"See, gentlemen? Whatever has befallen that dreadful fellow, while I'm sure it was well deserved, had nothing to do with our little disagreements. I - " he paused as his eyes had not left the screen, " _Oh no._ "

"What?" Bullock and Jim asked at almost the exact same moment. Oswald didn't answer, instead watching the fuzzy recording of Dougherty as he paused, staring across the street, straight into the bakery window. Oswald figured it didn't really matter which one he'd seen, and he could only watch, helpless, as Dougherty crossed the street and out of the camera's view. If only he had been more cautious, if only he had had him followed, if only -

But he'd seen Ed that morning, and he'd seemed alright. Surely that meant nothing _too_ bad had happened, right? Surely -

"Well, Penguin, what is it?"

He looked over at Bullock, waiting with an expression like a dog that had just treed a raccoon.

Perfect. Oswald had always had a knack for playing off the situation.

"Oh, nothing," he said, "I just realized how the raccoons have been getting into the garbage. They create _such_ a mess, and time is money, you know."

"Huh."

"Now on that note, I'm going to have to ask you to leave. I will _not_ be accompanying you to the station, as you have no evidence and I have already told you everything I know. It would be a waste of all our time. If you find any _actual_ evidence tying me to this - and you won't, because there is none - feel free to drop by then. Good day."

"No."

"I'm sorry?" he blinked in mock confusion.

Bullock slammed a fist down on his desk, causing Oswald to purse his lips in distaste.

"I said, 'No!', understood? You _will_ come with us, because those videos prove nothing. We have a missing officer who could easily be _dead_ and you are the last person he had a confrontation with. Cause. Effect," he slapped the back of his hand against the palm of the other in emphasis, "Making you the prime suspect. So - "

He was cut off by a ringing sound. Jim fumbled for the phone in his pocket, flipping it open and answering, "Hello?"

"Yes?"

"What? Really?"

"Uh-huh."

"Okay."

"We'll be there in ten. See if you can find anything else."

He ended the call, looking up to meet Bullock's concerned face and Oswald's expectant one.

"It's your lucky day, Oswald," he nodded at the man, "That was one of our guys. Dougherty just called in. He's alive, but something's wrong with him. I don't know what. He wouldn't say," he turned to Bullock, "C'mon, Harvey, we're headed back to the station."

"We're just gonna leave him here?" Bullock exclaimed, "Look at him! You're letting him be a smug bastard again! When are we going to stop letting him walk all over the police?"

"When we have something concrete to pin on him," Jim shrugged, "Just leave it for now."

Bullock rolled his eyes, glowering down at Oswald, who smiled back.

"Watch yourself, Penguin. One day... one day your luck is gonna run out and you aren't gonna be able to slip by anymore. And I intend to be there. With popcorn. And a drink."

"We shall see," Oswald replied, still smiling charmingly, "Good day, gentlemen."

He waited until they were out of the building to collapse back into his chair. Something had happened to Dougherty, between the time he left the Lounge and now.

Between the time he entered the bakery and now...

Oswald furrowed his brow, a sinking feeling in his stomach.

Could it have been Ed? Did he even want to know if it was Ed?

Yes, he decided. He would rather know the true Ed than the near-perfect version of him that he currently held in his mind. And it's not as if he could blame Ed, if it had been him. No, it would just make things complicated. Because if Ed wanted to head down this path _now_ of all times, it would make Oswald's life that much harder. He wouldn't turn his back on the man, certainly, but he had done _so much_ to become someone his parents could be proud of, and dating a criminal would -

"Ozzie?"

Oswald blinked himself out of his thoughts, looking up to see Ivy standing in the door, finger twirling her hair nervously.

"Yes?"

"I - I just saw the cops leaving. Are - are you okay?"

He smiled, "Yes, Ivy, I'm fine. Honestly, you know me. Why would you have been worried?"

She fidget and he felt a small curl of suspicion. Was it possible..?

"Because I think I know why they were here and I think it may be my fault."

Oswald looked at her seriously, "They were here about Officer Dougherty. Something happened to him. Sound familiar?"

"Very."

He sighed, "What did you do?"

Ivy glared at her feet, "He was a jerk! He deserved it! I was in the bakery the other day, when he came in. He grabbed Kristen, and threatened her, and was just an overall nasty person. So I may or may not have poisoned him."

"Poison? But he's not dead!"

"It wasn't supposed to kill him," she shrugged.

"Then what, pray tell, _was_ it supposed to do?"

"You know about steroids? You know their infamous side effect? Well, imagine that intensified, but without any of the benefits. Oh, and of course one major side effect is a weakened heart, which could give under moments of exertion, such as beating up innocent women."

Oswald contained his chuckle. Oh this was so much preferable to Ed going rogue. Provided Elijah and Gertrude never got wind of what she was doing, it would hardly be his problem at all. Maybe a favor here or there to keep her out of trouble if she made a mistake. And speaking of mistakes...

"As long as you cover it up properly," he advised.

"Don't worry," she gave him a winning smile, "I learned from the best, after all."

"Uh-huh. And I wouldn't be a responsible guardian if this didn't come with consequences, so..."

"Oh _come on_ , Pengy!"

"I think perhaps two weeks of literature only? With quizzes from me to make sure you've read it all."

She scowled, "Fine. I'll read Marx. Bridgit said his stuff was good."

Oswald rolled his eyes, "She would, wouldn't she. But alright, if you're going to be sucked into the void of socialist philosophy, why don't you give Owen and Fourier a try, too? They're a little less... militant than Marx, so your friend probably hasn't read them, but they make some fascinating proposals about ideal societies."

"Alright," she agreed, pausing as she turned to go, "You're not mad at me, are you?"

Oswald _did_ chuckle this time, "Not at all. I'm quite proud, to be honest. Now why don't you go get started on your reading, and I'll head out to try on my new suit. That's what I was planning on before those two barged in and interrupted everything."

"Want to impress your date?" Ivy teased.

"Why yes, as a matter of fact, I do," Oswald answered with dignity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed, comments are always appreciated!


	17. The Witness (Jim)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow it has been awhile. This is the chapter where I let Jim & Harvey prove they're genuinely good people, after using them as lowkey 'bad guys' in the last chapter (I mean, it _was_ from Oswald's perspective). The next one (hopefully sometime next week) will be the date, and then there will be a four-part epilogue, with each of the main characters PoV of the wedding. 
> 
> I promise I will start updating again, although certainly not as fast as before, since I'm in college now. I hope the long ending wraps this up as the feel-good story I intended it to be!

Jim fell into the seat across from Harvey's desk as Harvey pulled out his flask.

"He wouldn't say anything, other than that he's in no condition to come in and that he didn't know what caused it. Oh, and that he wanted us to track them down and make them pay," the younger officer who'd been helping them out reported

"Thanks, kid," Jim answered when Harvey didn't say anything, "Why don't you take a break? We'll figure this out eventually."

"No luck with the Penguin, huh?"

"Zilch," Harvey grumbled, "I thought we finally had him."

"You know, there's a chance he was telling the truth when he said he was going straight," Jim suggested. He and Harvey looked at each other for about ten seconds before they both burst into laughter.

"Sure, sure," Harvey said, "The day Oswald Cobblepot drops all criminal ties for good, I'll eat my hat."

"Be careful what you swear, Harv. This is Gotham after all."

The other officer excused himself, having already been dismissed. When the door clicked shut, the two detectives grew serious.

"Well, if it wasn't Penguin, who else might have the balls to target a cop?" Harvey asked.

Jim shrugged, "No idea."

Then he snapped his fingers, "Didn't he say something yesterday about good news? Somebody was cooperating?"

"What about it?"

"He said they'd sent him a gift. What if they brought it to the station?"

"You think we could spot them on the security footage?"

"Maybe, but first we should ask Jan if anybody came around looking for Dougherty yesterday."

"Ooh, good idea!"

They hurried out of the office, heading down to the reception desk.

"Jan, did anybody come in asking for Officer Dougherty yesterday?" Jim asked, reaching the desk first, Harvey two steps behind.

The receptionist turned to him, "Yeah, why?"

"He hasn't shown up today and we think somebody did something to him. We don't have any leads, but we think there's a chance whoever attacked him came here yesterday, to confront him or maybe give him something."

"Like poison?" she asked, eyes wide.

"Yeah, exactly."

She nodded, "Yes, there was a girl here yesterday looking for him. Young woman, maybe. She had red hair, but I don't remember much else. Oh, and she had a box for him."

"Aha!"

"She didn't appear on your security monitor?" Jim asked, gesturing at the camera located on the ceiling of the kiosk.

Jan shrugged, "I'm afraid something malfunctioned on the camera last night. Lots of the recent footage was lost."

"Fuck!" Harvey kicked a nearby desk, "We were this close! Okay, let's think about this. Young woman, red hair."

Jim froze, "No."

"No? What 'no'?"

"He wouldn't."

"Who wouldn't what? C'mon, Jim, give me something."

"Penguin! His - his _ward_ , or whatever. Ivy Pepper?"

"Mario Pepper's daughter? From the Wayne case?"

"Exactly! It was in the news a few years back: Former Mayor Cobblepot Takes in Orphaned Girl or something like that. He wouldn't use a kid for something like this, would he?"

"What do you think?" Harvey scoffed.

Jim sighed, "I think he'd find it clever. And she definitely had red hair. She'd be, what, 17? Something like that. Here, let me see if I can find a recent picture online."

He searched around for awhile, finally spotting someone who could only be her in news photo from some event hosted at the Iceberg Lounge.

Swinging the computer around, he showed the photo to Jan.

"Was that her?"

Jan peered at the photo, and Jim almost thought he saw recognition flash in her eyes, but it was gone before he could be sure. She shook her head, "Nope."

"Are you sure? You looked like you might have known her."

"I'm sure," she nodded, "But I have seen her. She was sketching in this cafe where I sometimes stop for lunch, just a few days ago."

"Huh," Harvey said. Jim frowned. Young woman. Red hair.

His frown deepened.

_Young woman._

_Red hair._

Jim's eyes widened, "Harvey, I have a theory."

"Yeah? Good for you. Care to share?"

"Can I tell you in your office?" he asked.

"Sure..?"

They returned to the office and Jim shut and locked the door as he stepped inside.

"What is it?"

"What red-haired woman do we know that might want revenge on Dougherty?"

Harvey stared at him for a moment before realization dawned on his face, " _Kristen Kringle._ "

Jim nodded, "Exactly. And after the way this department handled that case... can you blame her?"

"Not really. So what?"

"So maybe - since we _did_ get confirmation he didn't die - maybe just this once we should leave it."

"Let her get away with it? I thought you hated vigilante justice."

"I do," Jim nodded, "It's just... we dropped the ball on punishing Dougherty, just because he was an officer. And in the end, vigilante justice is better than no justice. Besides, this was personal. I don't think she's going to make a habit of it."

Harvey nodded, "Well, you're probably right, there. And to be fair, if I could have gotten away with it back then, I'd probably have given him at least a good kick in the balls. I suppose I should have fired him as soon I was in charge, but... I kinda forgot. You know?"

"Yeah..." Jim thought back to the debacle that had resulted in Kristen quitting, and the one that had led to Harvey's becoming acting captain, "I know."

"So we do nothing? Say all the leads turned up nothing?"

"We do nothing," Jim nodded, wondering if he'd ever get a case where the morals weren't gray.

"Good. I think you're finally getting the hang of how to make good decisions around here, Jim."

Jim just laughed. Slightly more hysterically than was probably wise.

"I'm gonna head out and grab a coffee. Want something?"

"Nah, I'll just come with you," Harvey shrugged, grabbing his hat off the hook near the door and following Jim out of the building.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Jan is the true hero that Gotham needs. Trust me when I say those security cameras didn't 'malfunction' on their own...
> 
> I'm not sure how fast I can write the rest, but I promise it won't be another month-long wait.  
> Comments make my day!


	18. The Date (Ed)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ed and Oswald finally go on that date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I promise it won't be another month-long wait" hahahahaha, nah, it was a _nine_ month long wait instead! RIP me.
> 
> Okay, so, here's the deal: My fingers are crossed that nothing in this chapter conflicts with or repeats anything that happened earlier in the story, because I only had the time to skim the old chapters. Same goes for characterization.  
> Futhermore, I have one out of four of the epilogues written, so there will be at least one more update (although hopefully all four) in reasonable time.

"Don't worry about it, everything is going to be fine. Besides, I've got a good feeling about him."

 

"Thanks," Ed bit his lip, switching the phone to his other hand as he adjusted his tie. His anxiety wasn't  _ quite _ as through the roof as it had been before, “Do you think the cookies are too much, though? What if he doesn’t like molasses? Are they too plain? He’s rich, what do rich people want?”

 

Kristen laughed on the other end and Ed could practically see her rolling her eyes, “Ed, it’s going to be fine. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you could probably make him scrambled eggs and toast and he’d swoon over it. He bought over a hundred turnovers just so he could see you for a few minutes every day. He’s not going to, I don’t know, get mad and storm out because you made him  _ molasses crinkles _ of all things. Just smile, enunciate, and be yourself.”

 

A knock at the door made Ed jump and almost drop the phone.

 

“He’s here! Oh my god, I’m not – “

 

“Calm down, Ed. You’ve got this. Don’t forget to enjoy yourself, and good luck!”

 

There was a click and the phone went silent. Ed swallowed hard and turned it off, sticking it in his pocket and running his fingers through his hair one last time before he headed for the door. His fingers closed around the knob with just a little too much force as he yanked it open, nerves aiding his misjudgment.

 

When the door swung inward, he was met with the sight of Oswald framed against the dull blue of the hallway, looking like he walked straight out of a Victorian-gothic painting of some mysterious nobleman. His appearance was pristine, as always, but his suit seemed slightly more expensive than usual, a velvet quality that made him shimmer when he moved and blended into the shadows when he didn’t. Everything in the ensemble was trimmed in gold and purple, made all the more noticeable by a shocking violet tie. Ed glanced down at his own suit – gray, off the rack – feeling grossly inferior. 

 

His brain reminded him of a piece of trivia he’d known for years: the Penguin’s wealth, while unknown in its entirety, was estimated as second only to the Wayne fortune. No matter how inferior his dress may be, there was no way Oswald could be  _ expecting _ Ed to be his financial equal. Ed was just the baker across the street, after all. It was a good thing he  _ owned _ a suit. 

 

The moment their eyes met, Oswald’s face broke out in a smile, more soft than bright, but most of all, sincere. 

 

“Ed,” he greeted with a small nod, his eyes roaming up and down before returning to Ed’s, “You look good.”

 

Ed stepped back, gesturing with his arm, “Please, come in. And thank you, so do you.”

 

Oswald smiled at him again as he walked inside, left hand behind his back. He turned to Ed and said, “I have something for you.”

 

“Oh?”

 

He held out his left arm, revealing a bouquet of green carnations, tied together with a forest green ribbon.

 

“You mentioned green was your favorite color, so I asked Ivy if there were any green flowers. She’s the one who grew these,” Oswald added.

 

Ed felt his heart flutter at the thought that Oswald remembered something he had said in passing, while dissociating, no less. And that he cared enough to use that knowledge to bring Ed a gift. 

 

He accepted the flowers, trying and failing to fight back a blush as he led Oswald into the kitchen, both to find a vase and to give Oswald his own present. 

 

“Thank you, Oswald,” he said, kneeling down to open the cabinet under the sink, “They’re beautiful.”

 

“Not as beautiful as you,” Oswald replied with a smirk, pleased to have found a more benign and mutually enjoyable way of getting to see Ed blush. 

 

Ed stood up once he found an appropriately sized glass vase, closing the cabinet and placing the bouquet on the table. He turned towards the counter to pick up a white box with a blue ribbon.

 

“I have something for you, too,” he spoke in a rush, thrusting the box out slightly farther than necessary. Oswald raised an eyebrow and accepted the box without a word, slipping the ribbon off and peering inside. He looked back up at Ed with another soft smile as Ed’s heart hammered with anticipation.

 

“They smell amazing, Ed. Thank  _ you _ ,” Oswald closed the box and took one of Edward’s hands in his own to kiss it. Ed felt a small part of his mind faint and unsubtly grabbed the back of a nearby chair to avoid swaying on his feet. 

 

“Are you ready to go?” Oswald asked once he released Ed’s hand, “We have time, but the earlier we get there, the earlier we can order.”

 

“Of course,” Ed nodded, “I’m ready. Lead the way.”

 

Oswald sent another smile his way as they exited the apartment, and when Ed finished locking the door behind them, he offered him his arm. Ed wrapped his own around Oswald’s with enthusiasm, distinctly aware that he was on the arm of arguably the most powerful man in Gotham. It was  _ exhilarating _ . 

 

When they reached the parking lot, Ed stopped short. The limousine Ed had seen in Oswald’s VIP garage was waiting in front of the building, a chauffeur already sitting at the wheel. Oswald held the door open for Ed, even giving him his hand to help him inside, as if it were a carriage, before climbing in behind him and shutting it. A barrier was up between the seats and the driver, and Ed was glad he wouldn’t be required to meet new people.

 

“I reserved one of the best tables for us,” Oswald said to fill the silence, “We should have a central view, without feeling crowded by the other guests. I’ve also paid for a private waiter so that our needs and wants can be attended to promptly without bogging down a section’s waiter. Are you interested in getting wine?”

 

“If you want to,” Ed shrugged, “Not if it’s an inconvenience, though.”

 

Oswald gave a fond sigh, “My dear Ed, I want to spoil you. Nothing you want is an inconvenience. Whatever you want, anything at all, just say the word and it’s yours. Money is no object, nor is time. I want tonight to be the best night of your life, at least until you grant me the privilege of taking you out again, if you so choose.”

 

“Oh,” Ed mulled this over, sifting through the words for something false and coming up blank, “Okay.”

 

“Good. So, wine?”

 

“… Alright,” he decided, “As long as it goes with our meals.”

 

“Of course,” Oswald nodded, “So, how was your week?”

 

“It was wonderful,” Ed clasped his hands together, pressing his knuckles to his lips, “Kristen and I have been running through ideas for new pastries, and planning out our annual holiday sale. Plus, I’ve had a date with you to look forward to.”

 

“You flatter me,” Oswald said graciously, “What sorts of things do you tend to do for the holidays?”

 

“Apart from decorating the store, of course, we like to make themed products. There is, of course, the traditional shaped sugar cookies with frosting and sprinkles. We do trees, candy canes, stars, and reindeer for the shapes. Then we always do some of the same classics: molasses crinkles, like those; peanut butter with the little chocolate stars; and angel cookies. I think this year we’re planning on doing a chocolate chip variant and a sesame cookie as well. We’re considering doing Oreo truffle brownies, mulled cider cake, and peanut-brittle-crust pie with a chocolate silk filling. For the breads, we do a lot of cardamom or cinnamon loaves. And we have daily games and puzzles themed to different winter holidays that can win customers discounts.”

 

“I’m glad we’re going to dinner,” Oswald replied to his spiel in a light tone, “because I’m hungry, now.”

 

“Sorry.”

 

“Don’t be. It just builds up my anticipation for getting to try out your magical creations.”

 

“They’re not that magical – “

 

“No? How come I am entranced by you every time I eat one, if they’re not enchanted, then?”

 

“I – “ Ed stumbled, unsure how to answer. Luckily, Oswald answered for him, “I guess it must just be a natural charm, then. You need to be careful with that face – beauties far less than yours have driven many a man to insanity, you know.”

 

Ed blushed in response and Oswald chuckled, “Perhaps I jest, but the substance of it is the truth. You are far and above the most gorgeous man I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

 

“Thank you,” Edward replied, lowering his gaze to fix on his own clasped hands, “You – you are very handsome, yourself. Kingly.”

 

“Oh?” Oswald questioned.

 

He nodded, “Handsome and aloof, like a noble lord, ruling over all your inferiors. You have it all, after all.”

 

“Except someone to rule by my side,” Oswald mused, and Ed’s gaze snapped up, only to find the Penguin’s had drifted away towards the window. 

 

“I – I mean, you do have Ivy,” he said weakly. Oswald’s implication that he was interested in a long-term relationship had thrown him for a loop. He didn’t even know how he’d managed to get  _ one _ date with the man. Not that he wasn’t also interested in Oswald that way, but what could he possibly have to offer in such an arrangement? His baking skills? But it wasn’t like paying for his baked goods was making any kind of dent in the Penguin’s fortune. Did he really enjoy Ed’s company enough to want to try a real relationship? It was difficult for him to believe.

 

Oswald looked back at him with a slightly incredulous look, “You do know that’s not what I meant, right?”

 

Ed nodded, but said nothing. He was saved further embarrassment and self-doubt as the limo rolled to a halt in front of a theatre that looked like it could have come from the 1920s. Oswald took his hand once more as they exited the car, releasing it to offer Ed his arm as they entered the theatre itself. 

 

“Oh, this place is gorgeous,” Ed gasped, unable to stop his eyes from wandering over the grand architecture, from two story corinthian columns to gilded chandeliers. 

 

“It’s a favorite of mine,” Oswald said with a smile, “The only downside is the lack of private boxes. But, we have the next best thing.”

 

He flashed his tickets to the woman at the desk, and they were promptly led away by a waiter. Ed was impressed by the privacy of the place Oswald had selected, as well as the view of the stage. He could see the set - pieces designed to be an old Russian village - or was it Ukrainian? He wasn’t entirely sure. 

 

Ed moved his attention to the menus, and shortly thereafter found himself ordering khachapuri with a side of pelmeni, both eastern European dishes. Oswald got chicken paprikash and ordered an expensive wine for the table. Their waiter left a complimentary basket of assorted rolls on the table and left them to it. 

 

Ed sat quietly, buttering a roll, too overwhelmed and unsure of himself in such an upper class atmosphere to know what to say. 

 

Oswald seemed to pick up on this shortly and spoke up himself, “So, Ed, when you aren't baking, what do you like to do?”

 

Ed took a bite out of his roll as he considered the question, swallowing before answering, “Well, I quite like video games. And books. And documentaries. And old science fiction films.”

 

“A nerdy baker…” Oswald mused. Ed blushed and looked down at his hands, “I - I suppose so.”

 

He jumped when Oswald reached out and took his hands, slowly, nervously looking back up. Oswald was smiling at him, but in a gentle way as he said, “Ed, didn't I already tell you I'm not making fun of you? I think it's cute. Really.”

 

“You do?”

 

“Yes!” Oswald exclaimed, “Yes, I  _ really, really _ do. You're smart, beautiful, funny. I'm trying to impress you enough to score a second date, not - I don't know, humiliate you!”

 

“You - you want a second date?”

 

“Of course I do, Ed. I haven't been pining after you for months just for a hookup, you know. I'm not really the casual type.”

 

“Neither am I,” Ed said before he had time to doubt himself. 

 

“I'm glad,” Oswald's smile grew, “So, video games, documentaries, and old science fiction, huh?”

 

Ed nodded. 

 

“Well, what sorts of video games do you prefer?”

 

“Uhh, classics like asteroids and Tetris and mastermind, definitely. But also questing games. I'll play any fantasy rpg that isn't multiplayer.”

 

“Why not multiplayer?”

 

“That would require me to communicate with people,” Ed glanced away, embarrassed by his blatant lack of social knowledge, “I like meeting people, I really do, I just - I don't know where to start. What to say.”

 

“You certainly knew what to say that day you stormed into the Lounge, back when we first met,” Oswald chuckled. Ed pulled his hands away in order to bury his face in them, “Ugh that was so embarrassing, I must have looked so foolish.”

 

“Not at all,” Oswald assured him, “You were all fiery rage and self righteousness, but also obviously terrified. Quite frankly you looked angelic.”

 

“You really think so?” Ed asked, meeting his eyes again. Oswald's green ones were softer and more open than he'd ever seen before as he said, “I still think that.”

 

There was silence for a time as their meals arrived and they began eating. Eventually Ed plucked up the courage to ask, “So what about you? What do you enjoy doing?”

 

“Well,” Oswald said, really considering the question, “I'm very new to civilian life, and I'm looking after Ivy, so I haven't had all the time in the world to discover my interests. I do like a good book, though, and I'm partial to some games myself. Mostly board games though: chess, checkers, Monopoly - I wouldn't even say no to Clue. Oh and card games like solitaire or maybe poker.”

 

“Mostly strategy then,” Ed remarked, “I love a good strategy game. I've never lost a game of chess in my life.  _ Or _ Clue, for that matter.”

 

“Funny,” Oswald said light-heartedly, “I've never lost at chess either.”

 

“Is that a challenge?” Ed asked, eyes sparkling, all shyness gone at the prospect. 

 

“Yes,” Oswald replied, “And an invitation.”

 

They continued to chatter until their empty plates were taken away and the lights dimmed. Edward moved along the booth to the back to get a better view and blushed when he realized Oswald was doing the same. Now they were sitting pressed side to side, and Ed gulped as he felt Oswald pull the classic stretch move, laying his arm neatly across Ed's shoulders. 

 

After a few scenes had passed, Ed snuggled in closer, finally realizing that Oswald wasn't just baiting him. He reached up to lace his fingers with Oswald's and breathed in sharply when he felt Oswald press a kiss to his forehead in response. 

 

They cuddled comfortably for the rest of the first act, and then their waiter returned to take their dessert orders. Oswald ordered a decadent chocolate mousse with cake and raspberries for them to share, much to Ed's delight. 

 

It was delicious, of course, and they curled up even closer for the second act. The acting was superb, the singing lovely, and the story just as tragic-yet-not-without-hope as ever. By the time the show was finished, Ed was feeling pleasantly warm, more an emotional feeling than a physical one, although he was probably physically warm as well from sharing Oswald's body heat. Just the thought of it made him blush, making him even warmer. 

 

Oswald dropped him off at his apartment and walked him to the door, kissing him on the hand before saying, “Goodnight, my dear.”

 

Ed nearly swooned, but instead he replied, “I'd invite you to stay the night, but you seem too gentlemanly to accept.”

 

“That I am,” Oswald laughed lightly, “Although it might be the most tempting offer I've ever refused.”

 

“Will you at least kiss me?” Ed practically pleaded, emotions getting the better of him. 

 

“I already did,” Oswald joked. Ed frowned, “I meant kiss me properly,” and then his brain caught up with his mouth and his hands flew up to cover it, as if he could have caught the words and hidden them inside. Oswald gazed up at him, face unreadable, for a minute before he carefully reached up and peeled Ed's hand away, replacing it with his own on Ed's cheek as he gently tugged him down into a tender kiss. Ed whined against him, so Oswald, feeling confident, bit lightly at his lower lip and licked over the same spot. Before Ed could do anything like press himself against Oswald and tempt him further, Oswald broke the kiss and stepped away. 

 

“Until tomorrow,” he said softly, “Goodnight, darling.”

 

He let his thumb brush over Ed's cheek once more and then he was gone. Ed looked after him, dazed, and it was a good few minutes before he snapped out of it and let himself into his apartment. 

 

As he crawled into bed, visions of Oswald swimming before his eyes, his phone buzzed. As he went to pick it up, it buzzed again. The first text was from Oswald, and it was simply a heart. 

 

The second was all caps,  “I EXPECT DETAILS,” and of course came from Kristen. 

 

Ed fell asleep with a smile on his face. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can thank the show Queer Eye for getting me to finally work on this again tbh. They make such a big deal about figuring out what's holding you back and doing something about it that I decided I had to just finish one of my many incomplete projects.
> 
> Fun Fact: Fiddler on the Roof was the first play I ever went to see at a dinner theatre, or an indoor theatre at all. I don't remember much, since I was so young, but I do remember a few of the songs and that the bread they served was delicious.
> 
> Also, comments are welcome (although responding to comments is yet another incomplete project I have), they absolutely make my day!


	19. The Epilogue (Kristen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 1 of 4

“Ed! Where the hell are you?” Kristen screamed towards the door, holding incredibly still so that neither her hair nor her dress were shift as she held each with one hand.

 

The door burst open seconds later, Ed running in as if his life depended on it - which, if he didn’t get his ass over there to help soon, it _did_.

 

“Sorry, sorry,” he muttered over and over as he skidded to a halt just behind her, taking the back of the dress out of her hands first as he did up the clasps and then proceeded to help pin up her newly-curled hair. She felt herself relax minutely as the dress finally stayed where she wanted it. As Ed slid the last pin into place, he stepped back and said, “You really do look beautiful.”

 

“Thanks,” she replied, giving him a quick hug - staying far enough away to ensure the dress didn’t get smashed at all, “Although I know I’m going to start crying, and it’ll ruin my makeup.”

 

“I don’t think Lee will care,” he assured her, “She’ll probably be crying too. Hell, _I’ll_ probably cry.”

 

“Aww, you’re sweet,” Kristen patted the side of his head. She would have gone for the top, but even in her heels she would struggle to reach it.

 

“You ready?” he asked, walking back to the doorway. She took a deep breath to steady herself and nodded. He offered her his arm, which she took, leading her towards the building’s back door. The door would lead to a path of flower petals winding through the orchard where the wedding was to occur.

 

She gripped onto Ed’s elbow tightly, waiting for their cue. It wasn’t traditional to have the best man walk the bride down the aisle, but she supposed there was little tradition to be had in their marriage. Besides, her family hadn’t even _replied_ to her invitation, not that she had ever expected them to come.

 

Which was why she nearly fainted when a familiar voice shouted, “Kristen!” from the far end of the hall they occupied. Ed and Kristen both spun around to find a blond woman, nearly identical to Kristen standing there.

 

The blond hurried down the hallway, although she did not run.

 

“Kristen,” she said again when she reached them, as if she couldn’t quite figure out what she was supposed to say next.

 

“Is - Isabella?” Kristen tilted her head, “Is that you?”

 

Isabella nodded.

 

“Who - ?” Ed began, but Isabella spoke again, “I just found out. Mother and Father didn’t tell me you were getting married.”

 

“Then how did you find out?” Kristen frowned, “I only sent out the one.”

 

Isabella nodded, “My - my stepdaughter. She’s… she has some issues to work out. Anyways, she sometimes goes through people’s garbage to try and blackmail them, and she happened to find the invitation. She didn’t realize I had a sister, and I guess she was curious.”

 

“First - you have a stepdaughter? Second - you have a stepdaughter who blackmails people? Third - why are you here?”

 

“I,” Isabella looked a little lost, “I guess I wanted to see you?”

 

“Oh?” Kristen asked, “Really? After what you said to me the last time we spoke?”

 

“Kristen,” Isabella said, a pleading tone to her voice, “Kristen, you have to understand. I was scared of losing you. I didn’t want you to go.”

 

Kristen was silent, their last exchange ringing in her ears.

 

_“Oh, so you’re too good for us, are you? You have to go to the city, live without morals, throw away everything your family has done for you, huh? Well, if you think you’re too good for us - for me - then I have nothing to say to you. Get out of my sight.”_

 

_Kristen had stared at her twin, conflicting emotions welling up inside her, before she had replied, “You’re just jealous because you don’t have the guts to live the life you crave, the type of life you’re always reading about.”_

 

_“And you’re just running because you know that Mother and Father will always prefer me, the obedient one, over you.”_

 

_Blinking back tears of hurt, she said, “And I suppose you’re perfectly content to follow their orders until they can find you a husband to order you around instead. Yes, I do think I’m better than that. It’s a pity you don’t.”_

 

She had, of course, only half believed her own words - her string of dominant, abusive boyfriends proved how deep her parents’ ideals had been sown. But that tiny streak of rebelliousness had, with the help of a few good friends, finally burned away the last traces of her ingrained compliance.

 

“So how is life treating you?” she asked finally, “I see you’re blond now.”

 

Isabella’s face was guarded, more guarded than Kristen could ever remember it being, “My husband likes it this way.”

 

“That’s nice,” Kristen said lightly, with just an edge of sarcasm, “Is he here, too?”

 

“No.”

 

“Ah,” Kristen replied, turning back to the door she would be walking out of soon.

 

“Wait!” Isabella darted forward, grabbing Kristen’s wrist as if she were about to vanish forever. Kristen flinched, fighting back a sickening mixture of fear and rage. Isabella didn’t know - had no way of knowing - how many times someone else had grabbed that exact same spot. Instead, Kristen took another deep breath and carefully extracted her hand.

 

“What?”

 

“Is this really the life you want?” she finally whispered. Kristen looked her up and down, from the dyed updo to the fifties housewife clothes that she herself had once worn, albeit hers had never been as expensive as Isabella’s clearly were. She noticed the tight lines around her face that aged her. She obviously wasn’t happy in her own situation. Kristen actually found herself feeling pity for her sister, whom she had hated for so many years after leaving home.

 

She thought about the question, glancing at Ed - her longtime friend, who had given her a job and a place to stay when she had needed it, who had accepted her for who she was, and who had nearly died for her. She thought of Lee, the love of her life, in whom she could confide anything and everything, and who would always be able to make her laugh. She thought of Oswald, who she had gotten to know over the past year and a half, as he became a true presence in their lives, always willing to help out, even with Dougherty, despite not initially knowing the layers of problems associated with his name. She thought of the bakery, where she could be creative and friendly and independent, and of the computer where her first attempts at children’s stories were stored.

 

The music started up outside, her cue to open the door and walk down the aisle to Lee. Ed waited for her to begin, and she cast one last glance at Isabella, saying, “Yes, it really is,” before taking the last step forward and letting Ed throw open the doors.

 

The orchard was beautiful - apple blossoms scattered everywhere, more falling gently towards the earth with each light breeze. Under a white arch covered in flowers stood Lee, equally radiant in her white dress trimmed in crimson. Standing to her side stood Mario, her closest friend from the hospital, and the man she had once pretended to date.

 

When Mario had first shown up to help with preparations, James Gordon - Lee’s ex and irritating man extraordinaire - had happened to drop by, revealing the fact that Lee and Mario had gotten together after she’d broken up with him. Kristen had been concerned, naturally, about his inclusion in the wedding. But when she had confronted them, she discovered a truth far different from what she had been expecting.

 

_“My father is a notorious gangster,” Mario had admitted, “And he was always a bit old-fashioned. Lee and I were friends, so I had confided in her that I was scared.”_

 

_“Scared?”_

 

_“My father had been getting on my case about meeting a nice girl and settling down. He would have rather I was in the crime business, I’m sure, but as it was, he figured I should at least have a traditionally nice life.”_

 

_“Anyways,” he had continued, “I didn’t think my father would appreciate learning that I preferred men to women, so I asked Lee if she didn’t mind pretending to be my girlfriend for awhile. I assured her that she wouldn’t come to any harm afterwards, and she agreed.”_

 

_“But what happened to end it?”_

 

_“My sister wanted to take over the crime family, but our father never quite believed she had it in her. So, she broke away and tried to stage a coup, tried to take down her own family. She was always a lot closer to me than she was to him, so when he asked me to talk her out of it, I did so on the condition that he accept me for who I was.”_

 

_“And that worked?”_  


_“Well, turned out he would have been fine with it anyways. But yeah. Things worked out, and Lee and I went back to being regular friends.”_

 

She’d gotten to know Mario a bit as well, over the past couple months, and he seemed like a genuinely nice person. His main goal in life was to help as many people as he possibly could, and she could see why he and Lee got on so well.

 

Lee smiled wide when their eyes met, and she released Ed’s arm in favor of taking hold of Lee’s outstretched hands. Ed stepped aside, taking up his position on Kristen’s side of the assembly. It was noticeably smaller, but Kristen didn’t mind. Lee’s side included a few cousins and many coworkers, while Kristen’s held a few of their mutual friends - namely, Oswald and Ivy. She noticed Isabella and an unfamiliar blond girl sitting towards the back on her side, but didn’t pay them much mind.

 

The officiant began the wedding, talking about love and relationships and whatnot, reading some romantic poetry that Ed had helped pick out, and moving on into the official part. Kristen was too excited to listen, practically vibrating with energy as she looked at Lee. Lee looked back at her the whole time, and Kristen enjoyed being able to take the time just to look. To go over all the little details of her face, her beaming expression, and to commit them to memory.

 

Finally it was time for them to actually participate, and Kristen had to draw herself out of her musings. Besides, she didn’t want to miss Lee’s vows.

 

“Kristen, you bring so much joy to so many people. Over the years I’ve known you, you’ve struggled to believe it, but I have loved watching you grow in confidence, and being there for you while you grew. I have always wanted, from that first day I met you, to be able to prove to you that you are a beautiful, kind, loving woman, and that you deserve every possible kindness in return. I know you believe me now, at least more than you did then, but I want to continue proving it to you, every day of my life. I want to be a source of your happiness, as you have been for me, and I promise you that I will do everything I can to be that for you. Taking care of people is my job, but _you_ take care of _me_ , and because of that, taking care of _you_ doesn’t feel like a job at all. Instead, it is an honor and a pleasure. I swear I will provide for you, to fulfill all of your wants and needs. I love you, Kristen, more than I’ve ever loved anyone, and I can’t wait to keep loving you forever.”

 

Kristen smiled at her through her tears as she began her own piece, “First of all, I want to say that I was right - I’m definitely crying. Second of all, Leslie. Lee. You do make me cry, constantly, although never once has it been out of fear or anger or hurt or sadness. You make me cry because I am happy. Because you showed me that I _deserve_ to be happy. Because you helped me discover who I was, and always encouraged me to be that person, rather than who anyone else wanted me to be. You mean so much to me, more than I could ever express. And you do, you deserve someone who takes care of you too, after all you do for so many people - myself included. And I look forward to loving you and caring for you, every day for the rest of my life.”

 

Ivy - who had, of course, grown the flowers on the arch, as well as the flowers in all the decorations and bouquets - brought forward the rings, and then it hit Kristen that it really was happening. She was already crying, as was Lee, but it was _really happening._

 

“Do you, Leslie Thompkins, take Kristen Kringle to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

 

Lee squeezed Kristen’s hands, looking straight into her eyes as she said, “I do.”

 

“And do you, Kristen Kringle, take Leslie Thompkins to be _your_ lawfully wedded wife?”

 

Kristen could only nod for a moment before she managed to speak, “I do.”

 

“Then I now pronounce you wife and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

 

It didn’t really matter who he was talking to, Kristen thought idly, and then she wasn’t thinking much at all, because Lee leaned forward and captured her lips. Their first kiss as a married couple was soft, although Lee did take a moment to dip her, briefly.

 

As she stood back up, both brides made to throw their bouquets. Kristen grinned to herself as hers was obviously caught by Ed, seeing as how he was the only person in the vicinity. She did, however, take a moment to wink at a flustered looking Oswald.

 

And then Lee took her by the hand and led her back down the aisle, and Kristen let herself forget about her friend just that once and enjoy the company of her newlywed wife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've finished the second part, which will be posted whenever I finish the third part.
> 
> I took a lot of liberties with Isabella here, in part because her character has so little development that she can kind of be fit into whatever scenario is necessary (*cough* ~~she was written badly but at least it gives me free reign~~ *cough*). I chose to write her this way for a few reasons: I already specified that Kristen's parents raised her to be a housewife, a future she wasn't sure she wanted and managed to escape. If Isabella isn't present, it's logical to assume she did not escape. Additionally, Isabella gives off more of a rich-wife vibe than Kristen (maybe that's just me but whatever), so it would make sense in the context of 'their parents wanted them to marry rich, Isabella followed the plan'. And finally, I needed her to have a stepdaughter for reasons you won't get to know until the last chapter is published ;)
> 
> As always, comments make my day!


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